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THE  DIARY 


OP 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW, 


LIBRARY 
OF  " HE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


■ 


THE  DIARY 


OF 

BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW, 


▲ MONK  OF  THE  ABBEY  OF  MARIENTHAL,  IN  THE  ODENWALD, 
IN  THE  TWELFTH  CENTUBY. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

“THE  SCIIONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY." 


NEW  YORK: 

ROBERT  CARTER  & BROTHERS, 

530  Broadway, 

. 1871. 


u They  he  not  all  faithless  that  are  either  weak  in  assenting  to  the 
truth,  or  stiff  in  maintaining  things  any  way  opposite  to  the  truth 
of  Christian  doctrine.  But  as  many  as  hold  the  foundation  which  is 
precious,  though  they  hold  it  but  weakly,  and  as  it  were  by  a slender 
thread,  although  they  may  frame  many  base  and  unsuitable  things 
upon  it,  things  that  can  not  abide  the  trial  of  the  fire  ; yet  shall  they 
pass  the  fiery  trial  and  be  saved,  which,  indeed,  have  builded  them- 
selves upon  the  rock,  which  is  the  foundation  of  the  Church 

But  how  many  millions  of  them  are  known  so  to  have  ended  their 
mortal  lives,  that  the  drawing  of  their  breath  hath  ceased  with  the 
uttering  of  this  faith,  ‘ Christ  my  Saviour,  my  Redeemer  Jesus 
And  shall  we  say  that  such  did  not  hold  the  foundation  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith?”—- A learned  Discourse  by  Mr.  Richard  Hooker . 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


The  supposed  date  of  this  Diary  must  account 
for  its  quain tness. 

The  truths  stated  in  it  are,  the  Editor  believes, 
not  more  evangelical  than  are  to  be  met  with  in 
the  letters  of  Bernard  of  Clairvaux;  and  these 
truths,  and  the  errors  which  grow  up  beside  them, 
not  more  inconsistent  with  each  other  than  many 
of  the  beliefs  which,  in  those  confused  times,  con- 
trived to  find  an  honest  livelihood  in  the  same 
mind.  The  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  childish- 
ness in  the  good  monk  would  be  the  natural  con- 
sequence of  an  experience  so  limited  as  his,  and 
of  the  union  of  the  intelligence  of  manhood  with 
that  habitual  relinquishment  of  all  manly  freedom 
of  thought  and  action  which  his  rule  required. 

Brother  Bartholomew’s  practical  piety  must 
have  had  many  parallels  in  days  when  the  Bible 
was  daily  read  in  the  Benedictine  abbeys,  and 
monasteries  were  the  industrial  schools  and  peni- 
tentiaries of  the  nations. 

The  earnestness  of  his  religion  may  serve  to 
show  the  strength  of  that  principle  of  life  which 
1* 

680050 


6 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


survived  the  malaria  of  the  monastic  system; 
whilst  its  deformed  and  stunted  growth,  in 
contrast  with  the  quiet  and  steady  progress  of  his 
friend,  may  illustrate  the  poisonous  nature  of  the 
system  which  could  paralyze  and  distort  a life  so 
real  and  so  divine. 

It  is  happy  to  think,  that,  amongst  the  millions 
who  adhered  to  the  ecclesiastical  system  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  there  were  many  who  lived  so  near 
their  Saviour,  as  to  receive  from  His  hands  the 
antidote  to  all  its  poisons ; but  it  is  far  happier  to 
know,  that  there  were  thousands  who  lived  so 
close  to  Him  as  to  rise  above  its  errors  altogether, 
and  to  be  content  for  His  sake  to  be  rejected  of 
their  generation. 


THE  DIARY 

OF 

BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 

In  the  name  of  our  Lord  Christ,  and  all  Ilis 
saints,  and  especially  of  our  Lady  His  mother, 
patroness  of  this  our  Abbey  of  Marienthal,  I, 
Bartholomew,  a poor  brother  in  the  same  vener- 
able Abbey,  governed  according  to  the  genuine 
and  original  rule  of  the  holy  Benedict,  have  un- 
dertaken to  write  a history,  from  day  to  day,  of 
the  things  which  mine  eyes  shall  see  and  mine 
ears  hear. 

The  thought  of  this  chronicle  lias  visited  me 
frequently  of  late,  often  intruding  on  my  hours  of 
holy  meditation,  for  which  reason  I endeavored 
to  scare  it  away  as  a presumptuous  suggestion 
from  the  Enemy ; but  seeing  that,  in  spite  of  all 
my  conjurations,  and  crossings,  and  repetitions 
of  the  Pater  Foster  and  the  Sacred  Hours,  it 
hath  continued  to  force  itself  upon  me  (being 
even  spoken  to  me  in  visions  by  the  holy  Benedict 
himself),  I have  concluded  it  to  be  a good  thought, 


8 


THE  DIARY  OF 


well-pleasing  to  the  saints,  and  have  therefore  re- 
solved  on  executing  it,  and  leaving  these  my 
humble  memorials  as  a legacy  to  the  Abbey, 
knowing  that  the  common  incidents  of  to-day 
are  often  as  a strange  and  pleasant  tale  to  those 
that  come  after : since  which  determination,  my 
meditations  have  been  no  more  disturbed — a fur- 
ther proof  that  the  project  is  not  from  below. 

In  order  to  accomplish  this  design,  parchment 
being  somewhat  costly,  I have  procured  from  the 
Prior  the  copy  of  an  old  manuscript,  wdiich  none 
of  us  can  read — not  even  our  learned  brother 
Lupacius,  who  has  studied  at  Paris.  The  labor 
of  effacing  the  former  characters  was  great,  they 
being  carefully  and  thickly  written,  but  I was 
cheered  in  my  toil  by  the  thought  that  I was 
destroying  some  of  the  works  of  the  Evil  One, 
the  letters  being  of  a ver^  hideous  and  diabolical 
form,  square  and  three-cornered,  and  very  black, 
speckled  moreover  with  a countless  multitude  of 
dots  which  skipped  around  them  like  wicked 
imps,  making  so  ugly  a confusion  as  no  Christian 
could  look  at  long  without  danger  of  distraction, 
much  less  have  made.  In  every  page,  therefore, 
however  I may  fill  it,  it  is  a marvellous  consola- 
tion to  me  to  reflect  that  I am  tilling  so  much 
ground  reclaimed  from  the  infidel. 

I have  lived  all  my  life  within  the  walls  of  the 
Abbey,  and  of  the  world  beyond  I know  even  as 
little  as  the  Israelites  did  of  the  Promised  Land 
when  they  believed  the  spies.  Of  my  father  and 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


9 


mother  I know  nothing,  nor  do  any  of  the 
brethren.  I was  found  one  winter  morning,  a 
helpless  infant,  lying  on  the  threshold  of  the  con- 
vent, wrapped  in  a few  rags,  with  a label  import- 
ing that  my  mother  and  father  'were  dead,  and 
entreating  the  holy  brethren,  for  the  love  of  God, 
to  bring  up  the  orphan,  and  teach  him  to  offer  * 
masses  for  the  souls  of  his  parents. 

At  first,  I have  heard,  the  monks  were  sorely 
puzzled  how  to  handle  or  what  to  do  with  me. 
An  especial  convocation  was  convened,  in  which 
it  was  determined  to  feed  and  cherish  me  as  they 
would  any  other  young  and  tender  thing,  and, 
after  being  baptized,  I was  assigned  to  the  guar- 
dians of  the  hospital,  with  a room  for  my  special 
use.  But,  one  after  another,  the  patience  of  the 
holy  men  was  quite  wearied  out  with  my  cease- 
less cries  and  complainings,  until  it  was  resolved 
to  commit  me  to  the  keeping  of  a respectable 
peasant  woman  in  our  village,  called  Magdalis 
Schroder.  With  her  I grew  to  a healthy  and 
merry  boy,  but  the  good  monks  always  insist  that 
the  suavity  of  my  temper  at  present  is  nothing 
less  than  a miracle,  considering  that  so  unmanage- 
able and  ill-natured  a babe  was  never  seen. 

In  my  youth  I had  occasionally  strong  desires 
to  sec  something  of  the  world  beyond  our  valley, 
that  before  my  profession  I might  know  what  I 
waxs  renouncing ; but  the  brotherhood  always 
withheld  me,  saying,  that  such  a wish  was  like 
Eve’s  desire  to  be  made  wise  by  eating  of  the 


10 


THE  DIARY  OF 


Tree  of  the  Knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil — that 
in  the  world  nothing  was  to  be  learned  but  evil, 
and  in  the  convent  the  knowledge  of  good.  Their 
will  was  everything  to  me,  and  I unresistingly 
acquiesced;  but  I have  often  since  thought  that 
the  evil  lies  nearer  home,  and  that  if  I had  to 
choose,  I would  not  fly  for  refuge  to  a monastery. 
But  what  am  I saying  ? The  holy  Benedict  par- 
don me ! All  I mean  is,  that  if,  as  they  say,  the 
earth  is  the  same  everywhere,  as  the  heart  cer- 
tainly is,  perhaps  the  heavens  are  also  the  same, 
and  as  near.  I say  this  to  Mother  Magdalis 
sometimes,  when  she  groans  under  her  burdens 
and  cares;  yet,  for  myself,  I have  no  wish  to 
change.  Here  I have  lived,  and  here,  if  the 
Lord  and  the  Abbot  will  it  so,  will  I die. 

Nevertheless,  I .was  not  always  so  content. 

At  one  time,  when  I was  young,  my  heart  felt 
strong,  and  fluttered,  for  freedom,  as  the  Prior’s 
birds  flutter  in  the  spring,  or  as  the  young  buds 
throw  off  their  casings  in  the  forest  on  an  April 
morning,  and  tremble  and  open  in  the  sun  and 
the  warm  winds. 

I used  to  go  often  and  visit  my  foster-mother. 
She  is  a widow,  but  she  has  two  children — the  best, 
she  says,  a poor  widow  ever  had.  It  is  true,  Karl 
is  a little  wrong-headed  and  fiery  now  and  then, 
but  Nannerl,  certainly  every  one  must  agree  there 
are  not  many  like  her.  It  was  not  because  of  her 
large,  violet-blue  eyes,  and  her  fresh  color,  like 
a rose — if  a rose  could  change  hue  as  she  does 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


11 


(of  such  things  I am  no  judge) — she  was  a strong 
and  healthy  maiden,  and  that  is  enough — but  for 
truth  and  goodness,  and  singleness . of  heart,  I 
never  saw  any  like  her.  She  was  like  a manu- 
script of  a psalm  of  thanksgiving,  illuminated  all 
’round  with  holy  images  in  fair  colors,  so  joyous 
and  in  harmony.  I often  thought,  when  I looked 
at  her,  of  the  blessed  words,  “ If  thine  eye  be 
single,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light” — 
so  full  of  light,  pleasant,  cheering,  fireside  light 
was  she  within  and  without.  I never  passed  her 
mother’s  cottage  any  morning,  how  early  soever 
— and  I passed  if  often — but  she  was  up  before 
me,  getting  her  brother’s  breakfast,  or  doing  her 
mother’s  work,  with  her  bright  morning  face, 
and  her  pleasant  words. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  when  I went  one  evening 
to  the  cottage  with  a basket  of  broken  meat  from 
the  Abbey,  I thought  they  all  seemed  happier 
than  usual;  Nannerl’s  face  was  brighter  than 
ever,  but  it  seemed  to  be  shining  with  some 
hidden  joy.  At  length,  when  she  left  the  room 
to  put  aside  the  contents  of  the  basket,  Mother 
Magdalis  told  me  there  was  to  be  a wedding  in 
the  family — young  Hans  Reichardt,  the  Abbey 
carpenter,  had  asked  Nannerl’s  hand.  They  had, 
she  said,  liked  one  another  long;  and  before  many 
weeks  they  would  probably  be  coming  to  the 
Abbey  church  together. 

I could  not  exactly  comprehend  why  Magdalis 
should  make  such  a festival  of  this ; I could  not 


12 


TIIE  DIARY  OF 


tell  why,  but  I had  never  much  admired  young 
Reichardt,  yet  I congratulated  them  all  as 
honestly  as  I could. 

j “It  is  a good  providence,”  said  my  foster- 
mother.  “ I am  old,  and  the  children  have  no  father, 
and  it  is  a blessed  thing  for  them  to  have  a home.” 

Nannerl’s  face  glowed  with  quiet  pleasure 
when  I wished  her  joy  of  her  new  prospects.  I 
did  feel  glad  at  their  joy,  but  somehow  I was  less 
at  home  there  that  evening  than  I had  ever  been 
before — I felt  left  out  of  the  circle.  Hans 
Reichardt  came  to  see  his  bride,  and  I took  my 
departure  early.  Mother  Magdalis’s  words  rung 
in  my  ears,  “ It  is  a blessed  thing  to  have  a home.” 
Home ! — the  word  came  to  my  heart  with  a new 
meaning  that  evening.  It  means  very  much  • and 
for  the  first  time  I felt  this  the  convent  could 
never  be  ; a shelter  from  wind  and  rain  it  might 
be — a refuge  for  the  weary — a refectory  for  the 
hungry — a place  to  eat  and  sleep  and  live  in — 
but  home  meant  something  more . 

Who  had  shut  me  out  from  this  ? Who  had  a 
right  to  say  that  this  word,  this  holy  thing,  might 
never  be  mine  ? 

For  many  days  these  things  rankled  in  my 
heart,  and  sad  havoc  they  made  there.  Till  then, 
I had  not  a want  beyond  the  convent  walls  and 
the  society  of  the  brethren  ; now,  my  heart  had 
looked  beyond  the  old  walls ; and  they  girded  me 
in  like  a prison.  I was  not  then  bound  by  any 
vows,  and  it  was  well. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


13 


I did  not  venture  to  tell  any  of  the  brethren 
what  I felt ; I did  not  believe  it  to  be  sin,  but  I 
knew  they  would  all  misunderstand  me. 

This  lasted  until  one  of  our  evening  Scripture 
readings — for  in  our  convent  we  still  adhere  to 
the  rule  of  reading  through  a portion  of  the 
Scriptures  in  the  winter  evenings.  I seated  myself 
among  the  rest,  prepared  to  be  once  more  a 
weary  listener  to  the  oft-told  tale.  (Alas ! how 
little  I knew  of  its  blessed  meaning !)  The  reader 
stood  at  his  desk,  intoning  the  words  in  his  lull- 
ing sing-song ; the  appointed  monk  went  his 
rounds  with  the  lantern,  to  see  that  none  of  us 
fell  asleep.  The  monotonous  voice  of  the  reader 
— the  uniform  tread  of  the  lantern-bearer — the 
monotonous  recurrence  of  convent  duties — all 
grated  like  so  many  instruments  of  torture  on  my 
impatient  heart.  In  health,  we  do  not  notice 
habitual  sights  and  sounds,  but  in  a fever,  the 
slow  dropping  of  water  from  the  eaves  seems  at 
each  fall  to  eat  into  the  brain.  And  this,  I 
thought,  is  to  be  for  life ! My  heart  sickened  and 
sank  under  the  intolerable  burden  of  countless  to- 
morrows, all  like  to-day.  And  beside  this  weary 
circle  of  fruitless  toil  arose  the  haunting  thought 
of  home — fresh  springs  of  love,  ever  fresh — life 
growing,  widening,  deepening,  day  by  day  around 
us,  and  all  centering  in  that  inner  sanctuary  of 
love,  the  home . 

I was  aroused  from  my  dreams  and  murmurs 
by  some  words  from  the  gospel,  which  fell  on 


14 


THE  DIARY  OF 


my  ear  suddenly,  as  if  I heard  them  for  the  first 
time : — 

“ For  even  the  Son  of  man  came  not  to  be 
ministered  unto , but  to  minister , and  to  give 
his  life  a ransom  for  many.” 

For  the  first  time,  the  idea  of  self-sacrifice  came 
to  me  with  all  the  exalted  joy  the  thought  can 
bring — the  thought  of  laying  down  myself,  my 
life,  for  others.  I arose  from  that  evening  reading 
strengthened  and  refreshed,  for  I had  a purpose — 
and  life  is  never  quite  barren  to  us  if  we  have  one 
living  purpose  to  sow  in  it,  to  grow  and  to  bring 
forth  fruit. 

The  thought  of  His  life  took  possession  of  me. 
I longed,  I prayed,  I strove  to  be  made  like  Him 
— the  holy  child  Jesus — like  Him  who  went  about 
doing  good. 

I made  a collection  in  the  convent,  to  furnish 
NanneiTs  house — I labored  in  the  convent  gar- 
den to  rear  vegetables  for  the  sick — I traveled 
leagues  through  the  pine  forests,  in  the  frost  and 
snow,  to  visit  them — but  the  more  I read  of  the 
life  of  Jesus,  the  more  unattainable  the  perfect 
model  seemed.  Are  not  the  stars  as  far  from  the 
mountains  as  from  the  valleys  ? The  more  I heard 
of  the  law  of  God,  the  more  I saw  how  far  it 
carried  its  claims  upon  the  heart ; and  the  heart 
was  precisely  the  thing  which  all  my  efforts  could 
not  reach. 

I could  labor  for  the  sick,  I could  toil  and  plead 
for  Nannerl  and  her  husband,  but  I could  not 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


15 


expel  the  repining  thought  from  my  heart  when 
I came  back  from  her  bright  fireside  to  these  dull, 
cold,  convent  walls. 

But  yet  again  God  came  to  me  and  completed 
the  work  He  had  begun.  The  second  part  of  my 
text  healed  the  wound  the  first  had  made.  How 
strange  it  w^as  that  I did  not  see  it  all  at  once ! — 

“The  Son  of  man  came  not  to  be  ministered 
unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  his  life  a ransom 
for  many” 

The  ransom  is  needed — for  whom  ? Surely, 
for  the  sentenced  criminal — for  those  who,  not 
being  able  to  fulfill  the  perfect  law,  can  read  in  it 
nothing  but  their  condemnation — that  is,  for  me. 
The  ransom  is  paid — for  whom  ? Surely  for  those 
who  need  it.  The  ransom  is  paid; — then  the 
prisoner  is  free.  I am  free  ! “ There  is  now  no 

condemnation  to  those  who  are  in  Christ  Jesus.” 
It  is  faith  in  this  which  gives  strength  to  walk, 
not  in  the  flesh,  but  in  the  Spirit. 

From  that  time,  my  whole  life  lias  been 
changed.  Jesus , the  Son  of  God,  the  Lamb  of 
God,  our  Ransom,  our  Pattern,  our  Friend,  He 
has  redeemed  me — I am  His,  and  His  cause  is 
mine.  The  self-denial,  which  had  been  impossible 
as  a sacrifice  of  expiation,  became  the  joy  of  my 
life  as  a sacrifice  of  thanksgiving.  With  the  eye 
of  Him  who  died  for  us — and  dying,  saved  us — • 
watching  our  lives,  what  is  not  possible?  I 
learned  that  before  we  can  be  servants  of  God, 
we  must  be  made  children  of  God. 


16 


/ 


THE  DIARY  OF 

Since  then,  I have  lost  those  restless  yearnings 
for  an  earthly  home.  I have  a home  in  heaven, 
and  my  Father  has  sent  me  hither,  for  a little 
while,  to  call  more  of  His  children  to  Him,  and 
to  minister  to  all  who  need: — thus  journeying, 
and  singing  as  I go,  I am  hastening  homeward . 
I am  happy,  and  can  rejoice  heartily  in  the  hap- 
piness of  Naunerl  and  Iteichardt.  In  the  convent, 
as  well  as  elsewhere,  we  can  bear  one  another's 
burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law  of  Christ. 

And,  perhaps,  in  this  tumultuous  world,  it  is 
well  that  there  should  be  some  set  apart  on  high, 
so  that  the  strife  and  eager  chases  of  the  present 
may  sound  to  them  faint  as  those  of  the  past, 
with  no  seasons  but  the  seasons  of  heaven  ; — like 
church-towers  rising  above  the  common  homes  of 
men,  yet  echoing  with  deep  tones  their  joys  and 
sorrows,  and  telling  them,  amidst  their  toils  and 
pleasures,  how  the  time  is  passing. 

Yet,  if  any  ask  my  advice  as  to  leading  a re- 
ligious life,  I usually  say,  u My  child,  in  your 
home  you  are  sure  God  has  placed  you.  There 
He  is  sure  to  bless  you.  Be  quite  sure  that  He 
calls  you  away  before  you  change.  He  knows 
what  work  to  give  His  servants,  and  in  good 
time  He  is  sure  to  let  them  know.” 

April  9. — S.  Gregory  Nazianzen , Bishop  and 
Doctor . 

I am  just  returned  from  a preaching  tour 
amongst  the  villages  of  the  forest  (anciently  called 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


17 


of  Odin),  with  two  choristers  and  a deacon,  to 
celebrate  the  mass,  and  preach  the  Easter  sermons. 

Much  grieved  at  discovering  in  some  of  the 
peasants’  houses  a superstitious  reverence  and 
fear  of  the  old  heathen  gods  (or  demons) — the 
people  in  many  places  using  pagan  charms  and 
incantations  against  them,  and  even  endeavoring 
to  propitiate  them  with  wheaten  cakes  and  other 
offerings.  I told  them  that  either  the  old  gods 
and  goddesses  were  nothing , and  therefore  could 
do  nothing  either  for  or  against  them ; or  they 
were  fiends , and  God  was  stronger  than  they ; 
and  that,  when  affrighted  at  night,  or  in  lonely 
places,  they  should  have  recourse  to  prayer  and 
to  the  sign  of  the  holy  cross.  Some  places, 
where  the  apparitions  and  wicked  demons  seem 
to  have  been  more  than  commonly  malignant,  I 
purified  and  exorcised,  sprinkling  them  with 
holy  water.  Nevertheless,  in  my  sermons,  and 
at  all  times,  I told  the  people,  that  it  is  only  sin 
which  gives  the  devil  power  over  us,  and  that 
none  but  those  whose  hearts  are  turned  to  God, 
through  hearty  repentance  and  true  faith,  are 
safe  anywhere.  I mourn  much  that  these  things 
are  not  oftener  proclaimed  by  our  brethren ; also, 
that  they  have  given  the  peasants  images  of 
saints  instead  of  their  old  gods — which  they  often 
confound,  in  their  blindness,  in  a very  profane 
manner. 

As  we  went  on  our  way,  I and  my  companions 
made  the  woods  resound,  from  time  to  time, 
2* 


18 


THU  DIAKY  OF 


with  psalms  and  holy  hymns,  thus  lightening  the 
way;  and  thus  also,  towards  nightfall,  effect- 
ually keeping  the  powers  of  darkness  avaunt, 
the  deacon  Theodore  being  of  somewhat  a fear- 
some spirit.  At  other  times,  I meditated  on 
some  holy  text,  the  theme  of  my  next  day’s  dis- 
course, refreshing  myself % with  the  living  bread 
wherewith  I afterwards  fed  the  people.  At 
night,  we  cut  down  branches  from  the  trees,  and 
made  palisades  around  our  beasts  of  burden, 
which  carried  the  holy  vessels  and  vestments ; 
lighting  watchfires,  also,  to  scare  away  wild 
beasts  and  other  evil  things. 

Once  I awoke  at  dead  of  night,  hearing  a 
strange  rustling  amongst  the  fir  twigs  which 
covered  the  ground,  and  a cracking  of  boughs, 
mingled  with  stifled,  unearthly  cries.  Moreover, 
by  the  moonlight,  which  came  down  in  strange 
and  shifting  patterns  on  the  bare  trunks,  and  on 
the  ground,  I perceived  some  dark  object  flitting 
rapidly  away  amongst  the  distant  pine-stems 
Whereat  I arose,  and,  stirring  the  watchfires, 
commenced  singing  the  fourth  Psalm  in  a loud 
voice.  When  I had  concluded  the  last  verse, 
crossing  myself  on  brow  and  breast,  I laid  me 
down  in  peace  and  slept. 

In  the  morning  our  best  ass  was  gone.  With- 
out it  we  could  scarcely  proceed,  the  other  beasts 
being  slow-paced  and  old ; yet  without  it  we 
feared  to  return,  the  creature  being  a favorite 
with  our  lord  the  Abbot.  Wherefore,  kneeling 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


19 


down,  we  laid  our  trouble  before  God,  pleading 
that  it  was  His  errand  on  which  we  were  jour- 
neying, and  telling  Him  of  our  sore  need ; our 
lord  the  Abbot  being  withal  a man  of  a ha&ty 
spirit.  How  marvelously  He  heard  the  prayers 
of  His  servants,  the  sequel  will  show. 

A few  days  thereafter,  I preached  in  a certain 
village,  on  the  commandments,  dwelling,  amongst 
the  rest,  on  the  sin  of  theft.  Great  power  was 
present  to  smite  the  consciences  of  the  hearers. 
Many  wept,  and  before  the  close  of  my  sermon, 
one  came  forth,  and  before  them  all  cried  out, 
“Lay  on  me  what  penance  you  will.  It  is  I 
who  stole  the  Abbot’s  ass.” 

The  whole  assembly  were  greatly  moved,  and 
■would  have  fallen  on  the  thief,  but  hastily  de- 
scending from  the  pulpit,  I went  to  him,  and  as 
he  knelt  before  me,  I said — 

“ Thou  seest,  my  son,  that  the  eyes  of  the 
Lord  are  in  every  place,  seeing  in  the  darkness 
of  the  pine  forest  at  midnight,  as  in  the  assembly 
at  midday.  Thou  canst  not  fly  from  Him,  for 
He  is  everywhere;  thru  needest  not  fly  from 
Him,  for  He  is  ready  to  forgive.  It  is  because 
thou  hast  not  known  His  grace,  that  thou  hast 
despised  His  law.  But  if  now  thou  repentest, 
and  with  thine  heart  believest,  I,  although  a 
sinner  as  thou  art,  absolve  thee  from  thy  sin.” 
lie  had  been  a very  fierce  robber,  the  terror  of 
the  neighborhood. 

After  the  service  he  brought  the  ass  to  the 


20 


THE  DIARY  OF 


door.  As  I left  the  place,  the  people  thronged 
around  us  to  seek  my  blessing ; and  lifting  up 
my  hands  I blessed  them,  many  weeping  and 
kissing  my  hands.  But  I turned  and  said, 
“ Mourn  not,  my  brethren,  that  ye  see  me  no 
more ; but  look,  I pray  you,  to  Him  whose  arms 
were  stretched  out  on  the  cross  to  save  you — • 
whose  hands  are  lifted  up  always  to  bless  you. 
Look  to  Him ! ” 

The  robber  went  forth  with  us,  although  the 
deacon  Theodore  much  misliked  his  company. 
He  spoke  not  a word  for  many  miles,  walking, 
with  head  bowed  down,  at  my  ass’s  head. 

At  last,  as  it  grew  dusk,  and  we  were  entering 
on  a thick  part  of  the  Odenwald,  said  to  be  in- 
fested with  plunderers,  brother  Theodore  came 
to  my  side  and  whispered — 

“Were  it  not  better  to  send  this  man  away? 
He  may  have  too  many  friends  here.” 

But  I answered,  in  the  words  of  the  wise  king, 
“ The  hearts  of  men  are  as  the  rivers  of  water ; 
He  turneth  them  whithersoever  He  will.  Let  us 
not  hinder  His  work  on  this  poor  soul.” 

At  length  the  shadows  fell  around  us,  and, 
coming  to  a glade  of  the  forest,  we  alighted  for 
our  night’s  encampment.  The  robber  continued 
with  us,  serving  us  much  in  hewing  branches  and 
lighting  our  fires,  he  being  more  skilled  in  such 
work  than  we. 

After  offering  our  vesper  prayer  and  hymn,  I 
lay  down  to  sleep,  none  making  me  afraid. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


21 


The  robber  sat  watching  the  fires,  whilst 
brother  Theodore  lay,  with  half-closed  eyes, 
watching  him.  But  the  peace  of  God  kept  my 
heart,  and  I slept  soundly. 

About  midnight  I awoke,  startled  by  the 
crackling  of  the  watchfires.  The  robber  sat  close 
to  my  head,  stirring  one  of  the  fires  with  a huge 
pine-log.  I arose  and  seated  myself  opposite  to 
him. 

“ Father,”  he  said,  leaning  on  the  log,  his  dark 
strong  features  glowing  in  the  red  light — “ thou 
art  a man  of  peace,  but  thou  hast  courage;  know- 
est  thou  who  I am  ?” 

“ I know,  my  son,”  I replied,  “ that  thou  hast 
been  a great  sinner ; but  I trust  one  stronger 
than  thou  is  melting  thy  heart.” 

“I  am  he  whom  the  peasants  call  Otho  the 
Thunderbolt,”  he  said.  “ My  name  has  been  a 
terror  to  thousands,  yet  thou  fearest  me  not.  I 
have  many  bold  followers  in  this  forest ; if  I were 
to  give  one  of  my  gathering-cries,  in  half-an-hour 
you  would  see  fifty  men  around  these  fires.” 

“The  name  of  the  Lord,”  I said  “is  more 
terrible  than  yours,  my  son ; but  to  those  who 
trust  in  it,  it  is  a strong  tower : the  righteous 
runneth  into  it  and  is  safe.  The  voice  of  the 
Lord  is  stronger  than  yours  ; and  legions  of  His 
angels  encamp  around  those  that  fear  Him.  1 
have  not  much  courage,  but  I have  faith,  which 
is  stronger.” 

“ I know  it,  father,”  he  replied ; “ I,  too,  know 


22 


THE  DIARY  OF 


that  the  voice  of  God  is  strong,  for  it  has  made 
my  heart  tremble  like  a reed.  He  is  mighty,  and 
He  is  against  me,  for  I have  sinned.” 

“Nay,  He  is  for  you,”  I said,  “for  He  came 
to  save  the  sinner.” 

Then  he  unfolded  to  me  the  terrible  story  of 
his  life  of  violence,  and  I unfolded  to  him  the 
good  tidings. 

It  was  a strange  chapel — the  wind  roaring  in 
the  tops  of  the  pine-trees,  and  driving  the  clouds 
overhead;  and  a strange  audience — the  wolves 
howling  around  the  fires — the  chief  of  a robber 
band ; but  are  not  all  places  holy  for  holy  words  ? 

And  the  heart  which  had  never  quailed  before 
man,  but  had  quivered  in  the  grasp  of  the  Al- 
mighty, melted  as  a child’s  at  the  story  of  the 
love  and  sacrifice  of  Jesus. 

“ Father,”  he  said,  “ can  you  admit  one  like 
me  within  your  holy  walls  ? The  meanest  office 
would  be  welcome  to  me — the  meaner  the  fitter 
for  me,  if  only  I might  work  for  the  poor  I have 
robbed.” 

“Nay,”  I said,  “go  and  tell  thy  companions 
what  great  things  the  Lord  hath  done  for  thee. 
Mayhap  they  too  will  repent  and  believe.” 

“ I will  return,”  he  said,  bitterly,  “ if  you  will 
not  receive  me ; but  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  one 
like  me  to  lead  an  honest  life  amongst  those  who 
have  known  me.  They  would  say,  The  old  wolf 
has  clothed  himself  in  sheepskin,  but  he  shall  not 
deceive  us  by  that.” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


23 


“ Go,  then,”  I said,  “ and  seek  to  restore  your 
comrades,  and  afterwards  repair  to  Marienthal : 
there  ye  shall  all  find  an  asylum  and  a sanctuary.” 

Before  the  morning  broke  he  was  gone. 

The  sun  arose,  throwing  slanting  rays  up  across 
the  pinestems,  the  birds  awoke  and  sang,  and  the 
leaves  trembled  and  glittered  with  the  drops  of 
dew— and  wre  went  on  our  way  rejoicing:  for, 
that  night,  had  not  the  day-spring  from  on  high 
arisen  on  one  who  sat  in  darkness  and  the  shadow 
of  death? 

Otho  the  Thunderbolt,  and  three  of  his  com- 
panions, are  now  inmates  of  our  Abbey.  We 
think  it  best  to  employ  them  as  much  as  possible. 
They  therefore  fell  our  firewood,  draw  our  water, 
keep  our  cattle,  and  help  to  clear  more  of  the 
forest  for  tillage.  The  rest  of  their  time  they 
spend  in  learning  and  reciting  psalms  and  litanies, 
and  in  listening  to  our  solemn  services.  Otho, 
moreover,  contrives  to  find  leisure  to  weave  mats 
and  nets,  the  price  of  which  he  lays  up  for  future 
restitution. 

This  event  has  greatly  strengthened  those 
amongst  us  who  are  truly  seeking  to  lead  a re- 
ligious life,  and  has  urged  us  afresh  to  prayer. 
But  some,  alas ! continue  idle  and  vain,  caring 
for  none  of  these  things — for  here,  as  elsewhere, 
our  Lord  and  the  devil  have  both  their  disciples. 

June  7. — Vigil  of  the  Nativity  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist. 


2 4 


TIIE  DIARY  OF 


We  have  entertained  an  angel  since  last  I 
wrote.  The  holy  Abbot  Bernard,  of  ClairvAux, 
has  stayed  with  us  a day  and  a night — ever  mem- 
orable at  Marienthal.  He  came  to  preach  the 
Crusade. 

It  is  marvelous  into  what  a ferment  his  coming 
has  thrown  the  whole  of  Germany.  People 
flocked  from  the  towns  and  villages  to  meet  him, 
bringing  with  them  the  sick  on  litters,  that  he 
might  heal  them  with  his  touch — those  esteeming 
themselves  blessed  who  could  kiss  his  hands.  The 
churches  were  filled,  and  even  the  churchyards, 
when  he  preached,  and  men  have  taken  the  cross 
by  hundreds.  At  Marienthal  the  peasants  wept 
and  sobbed  at  his  sermon,  although  they  could 
not  understand  a word  he  said — at  which  I mar- 
veled greatly. 

Scarcely  could  they  have  received  the  Lord 
Christ  himself  with  more  devoted  reverence:  in- 
deed, I wonder  much  that  they  should  pay  such 
homage  to  the  words  of  His  servant,  and  so  little 
to  His  own.  I fear  for  them,  lest  they  be  honor- 
ing the  voice  more  than  the  words.  Yet  truly 
he  is  a man  of  a noble  presence,  and  of  a very 
lowly  mind. 

In  the  pulpit  his  eyes  flash  like  flame,  but  in 
the  confessional  they  are  soft  as  any  dove’s.  His 
stature  is  low,  but  his  brow  and  bearing  are  so 
calm,  and  so  full  of  gentle  command,  that  the 
proudest  bow  naturally  before  him — not  thinking 
of  refusing  what  he  never  thinks  of  demanding. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


25 


lie  seems  worn  out  by  the  fervor  of  his  piety 
and  the  severity  of  his  life ; yet  the  ardor  which 
is  wasting  his  frame  is  mild  as  the  first  sunshine 
of  May  to  all  else.  At  the  Abbot’s  table,  more 
than  once,  I heard  him  laugh  joyously  as  a child. 
Nevertheless,  there  is  something  in  him  I would 
shrink  from  encountering  as  a foe. 

When  one  of  us  remarked  on  the  austerities 
which  had  so  emaciated  him,  he  said — 

“ The  cross  of  Christ  is  such  a burden  as  wings 
are  to  a bird — bearing  it  aloft.”  * 

To  us  he  spoke  as  St.  Paul  might  of  the  inward 
conflict,  and  the  inward  strength,  the  grace  of 
God  and  the  reconciliation  wrought  by  Christ. 
“ Blessed,”  he  says,  “ are  those  to  whom  God 
has  taught  the  meaning  of  the  words,  c Ye  are  my 
friends ; whatsoever  I have  heard  of  my  Father,  I 
have  made  known  unto  you.’  ” 

In  the  Abbey  he  left  behind  him  a holy  calm. 
We  felt  that  the  place  was  holy  ground,  because 
He  who  dwelleth  in  Ilis  saints  had  been  there. 

He  gave  a lamentable  account  of  the  world  and 
the  Church — bishops  and  priests  buying  and 
selling  holy  things,  Christian  princes  fighting  one 
another ; and,  meantime,  the  Turk  ruling  in  the 
Holy  Land,  and  the  heretics — Cathari,  Paulicians, 
and  Manichees — poisoning  the  wells  of  Christian 
life  within  the  camp. 

There  are  many  of  these  heretics,  he  says,  on 
the  Rhine,  and  in  Bohemia,  and  the  south  of 

* See  “ St.  Bernard’s  Letters.” 

3 


26 


THE  DIARY  OF 


France,  who  deny  the  Divine  authority  of  the 
sacred  priesthood,  and  mock  at  the  holy  sacra- 
ments, mimicking  them  in  their  secret  assemblies 
— all  the  more  dangerous,  the  holy  Abbot  says, 
because  of  the  blameless  moral  lives  of  many  of 
them,  and  their  upholding  their  errors  from  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  which  they  know  and  pervert  in 
a wonderful  manner.  Yet  is  he  averse  from 
killing  them,  having  compassion  on  their  lost 
souls,  and  dreading  the  effect  of  public  executions 
in  spreading  their  madness,  and  giving  notoriety 
to  their  errors. 

He  is  also  very  earnest  against  the  recent 
slaughter  of  the  Jews  on  the  banks  of  tine  Rhine, 
which  some  have  rashly  styled  a “crusade,” 
saying,  that  the  true  weapons  wherewith  to  con- 
quer them  are  the  Word  of  God  and  prayer. 
Many  have  already  been  converted  by  these  means. 

Note . — Why  not  the  same  for  the  Turks  ? They 
are,  however,  without  question,  very  wicked  and 
obstinate  infidels,  and  have  no  right  to  the  Holy 
Land. 

Two  of  the  companions  of  Otho  the  Thunder- 
bolt were  very  urgent  to  be  suffered  to  take  the 
cross,  and  return  with  the  venerable  Abbot,  who 
seemed  nowise  unwilling  to  receive  them, 
“ deeming,”  he  said,  “ such  an  enterprise  doubly 
beneficial,  since  their  departure  would  be  as  wel- 
come to  their  friends  as  their  presence  to  those 
they  went  to  assist.”  * But  I ventured  strenu- 

* See  “St.  Bernard  to  the  Templars. ” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


27 


ously  to  oppose  their  design,  fearing  that,  to 
minds  so  recently  enlightened,  the  distinction 
between  spoiling  the  Turks  for  Christ’s  sake,  and 
plundering  the  Germans  for  their  own,  might  not 
be  so  clear  as  could  be  wished.  The  holy  Bernard 
deigned  to  be  guided  by  my  remonstrances. 

Note. — It  is  a pity  that  the  holy  Abbot  should 
adhere  to  the  novel  rule  of  the  Cistertians;  but 
he  is,  notwithstanding,  doubtless  a man  of  God. 
Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  our  conviction  of  his 
especial  sanctity,  we  certainly  could  not  have 
received  one  of  that  rule  at  our  Abbey .* 

July  29. — SS.  Peter  and  Paul. 

I have  done  a deed  this  week,  whether  good 
or  evil  I shall  know  hereafter,  but  otherwise  I 
could  not  do. 

When  I went  to  Magdalis’s  cottage  this 
morning,  I found  her  wringing  her  hands  and 
weeping  bitterly,  the  room  unswept  and  in  dis- 
order, and  Karl  standing  with  folded  arms  before 
the  fire,  looking  very  sullen  and  determined. 

“What  is  the  matter?”  I exclaimed;  “what 
has  happened  ?” 

“Nothing!”  replied  Karl,  gruffly,  “but  that 

* The  quarrels  between  rival  monastic  orders  sometimes  ran  very 
high.  The  Cluniac  monks  refused  the  rites  of  hospitality  to  the 
Cistertians,  and  the  compliment  was  returned,  although  the  two 
heads  of  the  orders  seem  to  have  been  far  more  forbearing — the 
venerable  Peter  and  St.  Bernard  having  been,  personally,  cordial 
friends . 


2* 


HIE  DIARY  OP 


my  mother  does  not  want  to  spare  me  to  be  a 
soldier  of  the  holy  Cross.” 

“Nothing!”  sobbed  poor  Magdalis;  “will 
Father  Bartholomew  call  that  nothing! — for  an 
only  son  to  leave  his  widowed  mother  to  the 
mercy  of  strangers,  that  he  may  go  and  be  killed 
amongst  the  heathen  Turks  and  Jews?” 

I could  not  altogether  approve  of  Mother  Mag- 
dalis’s  view  of  the  Holy  Wars,  but  neither  did  I 
feel  sure  of  the  genuineness  of  my  foster-brother’s 
vocation  to  fight  in  them.  He  is  at  best  but  a 
willful  lad,  although  sound  at  the  core,  and  for 
some  months  he  had  been  growing  weary  of  the 
monotonous  toil  of  his  peasant  life.  Wherefore 
I represented  to  him  that  the  call  must  be  very 
strong  which  could  make  it  a duty  for  him  to 
desert  his  mother,  and  asked  him,  since  the 
redemption  of  the  Holy  Land  lay  so  very  near 
his  heart,  when  this  loud  call  from  heaven  had 
been  vouchsafed  him. 

He  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant ; then,  draw- 
ing his  hand  impatiently  through  his  long  brown 
hair,  he  said — 

“ You  know  well  I am  no  scholar : about  calls 
and  vocations  I understand  very  little ; but  this  I 
know — half  the  next  village  are  going  to  Pa- 
lestine,  and  the  lord  of  Erbach-Erbach  has  prom- 
ised to  make  me  his  armor-bearer  if  I will  go. 
And  how  expect  a young  fellow  like  me  to  toil 
away  his  youth  in  earning  a scanty  pittance  of 
daily  bread,  when  he  has  the  chance  of  seeing  the 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


29 


world,  and  coming  back  rich  enough  to  be  head 
peasant  of  the  district  in  a few  years  ?” 

u How  many  came  back  from  the  last  crusade  ?” 
moaned  Magdalis.  “Ask  the  old  men  of  the 
village  that! — and  who  would  not  rather  be  a 
serf  of  the  good  monks  of  Marienthal,  than  a 
retainer  of  the  proud  lords  of  Erbach?  And 
Nannerl,  too,  how  she  will  grieve,  and  poor  little 
Gretchen!” 

“ Gretchen  will  not  care,”  said  the  young  man, 
coloring.  “Gretchen’s  grandfather  was  a mer- 
chant of  one  of  the  free  imperial  cities,  and 
she  says  she  will  never  wed  a serf  of  the  soil.” 

“What  does  it  matter  what  that  silly  child 
says?”  said  Magdalis,  half  petulantly;  “ you  will 
be  killed,  and  then  she  will  be  as  sorry  as  any  of 
us,  poor  vain  wench !” 

Karl’s  lip  curled,  but  he  did  not  look  altogether 
displeased. 

“The  War  of  the  Cross  is  a holy  war,”  he 
said ; “ and  if  I die,  mother,  you  will  know  that 
I am  safe,  and  Father  Rudolph,  who  preached 
the  crusade  on  the  Rhine,  says  one  wound 
from  the  Turk  is  worth  fifty  Pater  Nosters.” 

Magdalis  was  too  wretched  to  controvert  either 
his  theology  or  his  purpose ; but  as  I looked  at 
his  manly  form,  and  his  bold,  bright  eye,  I felt 
«till  more  doubtful  as  to  his  heavenly  vocation  to 
the  Cross,  and  I said,  “ Well,  I would  not  inter- 
fere with  a pious  vow,  Karl,  but  I came  to  tell 
you  that  the  old  Abbey  huntsman  died  last  week, 


so 


THE  DIARY  OF 


and  I thought  you  might  have  filled  his  place,  as 
you  are  a famous  marksman.” 

Karl  turned  suddenly  to  me. 

“ Well,  Father  Bartholomew,”  he  said,  after  a 
short  pause,  “ I am  no  scholar,  and,  as  I said, 
know  little  of  calls  and  vocations — after  all,  it 
might  be  a mistake ; — could  you  really  get  me 
appointed  Abbey  huntsman — and  made  free  ?” 

“ I might  try,  Karl,”  I said ; “ but  far  be  it  from 
me  to  tempt  you  to  resist  a call  from  heaven,  or 
to  neglect  a sacred  vow.” 

Karl  rubbed  his  forehead  and  looked  up  and 
down,  half  puzzled  and  half  convicted ; at  length 
he  stammered — 

“ I am  a poor  unlettered  man ; I do  not  know 
that  it  was  exactly  a vow,  Father  Bartholomew; 
and  even  if  it  were,  could  you  not  perhaps 
manage  that  for  me  too?” 

I could  not  help  smiling  as  I shook  his  hand 
and  took  leave. 

In  a few  weeks  Gretchen  is  to  be  married  to 
the  Abbey  huntsman.  The  saints  intercede  for 
me  if  I have  done  wrong!  After  all,  Karl  will 
be  in  the  service  of  the  Church. 

And  I sometimes  Avonder  if  the  Saviour  cares 
as  much  for  His  deserted  sepulchre  as  so  many 
iioav  do. 

Are  not  His  living  habitations  far  better  ? 

u The  poor  ye  have  always  Avith  you.” 

“In  that  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of 
these  my  brethren,  ye  did  it  unto  me.” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


31 


And  St.  Paul  writes  to  each  one  of  the  faith- 
ful: “Know  ye  not  that  your  bodies  are  the 
temples  of  the  Holy  Ghost?” 

Why,  then,  travel  so  far  to  the  site  of  an  over- 
thrown temple  and  an  empty  tomb  ? 

“ He  is  not  there — He  is  risen.” 

He  is  not  there  only , for,  where  two  or  three 
are  in  His  name,  there  is  He, 

St.  Peter,  St.  Paul,  St.  Thomas,  St.  Bartholomew’, 
and  all  the  holy  Apostles  and  Evangelists; 

St.  Stephen,  St.  Clement,  St.  Pothinus  with  thy 
companions ; 

St.  Irenams  with  thy  companions ; 

St.  Sebastian,  St.  Laurence,  and  all  the  holy 
Martyrs ; 

St.  Augustine,  St.  Ambrose,  St.  Gregory,  and  all 
the  holy  Doctors ; 

All  the  holy  Pontiffs, 

All  the  holy  Monks  and  Hermits, 

All  the  holy  Virgins  and  Widows, 

Omnes  sancti  and  sanctse  Dei, 

Orate  pro  me, 
if  I have  erred. 

July  10. 

On  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  the  Transfigura- 
tion, a strange  monk  begged  admittance  into  our 
Abbey.  He  bore  letters  of  recommendation  from 
the  venerable  Peter,  Abbot  of  Clugni,  and  we  re- 
ceived him  gladly. 

He  is  a noticeable  man,  tall,  with  a complexion 


32 


THE  DIARY  OP 


that  tells  of  a southern  sun ; his  eyes  are  very 
dark  and  piercing — they  seem  always  still;  and 
yet,  whenever  you  look  at  him,  they  are  fixed  on 
you.  His  hearing  is  more  that  of  a soldier  than 
of  a monk — and  of  a soldier  more  used  to  com- 
mand than  to  obey ; yet  is  he  wonderfully  lowly 
and  submissive,  and  ready  to  perform  the  most 
servile  offices  if  directed  by  his  superiors.  Pie 
calls  himself  Conrad.  He  says  little,  perhaps 
because  he  speaks  German  with  a slight  lisp,  and 
with  difficulty,  nevertheless  not  as  if  his  throat 
were  sewn  up  like  a Frenchman’s,  but  with  a 
manly  force.  He  also  talks  Latin,  so  that  I un- 
derstand him  easily,  although  brother  Lupacius 
avers  that  his  idiom  is  not  that  of  the  ancient 
Homans;  no  reproach,  I trow,  to  a Christian 
man. 

In  no  language,  however,  does  he  say  much, 
his  thoughts  seeming  for  the  most  part  turned  in- 
ward, and  not  happy,  although  he  has  a singular 
wray  of  seeing  everything  whilst  apparently  look- 
ing at  nothing. 

Most  of  us  stand  rather  in  awe  of  him,  but  the 
strange,  taciturn  man  attaches  me  to  him ; also, 
he  seemeth  not  to  mislike  my  company. 

August  13. 

A company  of  Lombard  merchants  has  been 
here  to-day  with  silks  from  Greece  and  Asia,  and 
other  curious  Eastern  wares. 

The  Abbot  bought  some  beautiful  rare  stones, 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


33 


to  ornament  withal  a copy  of  the  missal  which 
brother  Theodore,  a curious  man  in  all  arts  and 
handicrafts,  has  lately  illuminated. 

Also  some  of  the  brotherhood  purchased  several 
ells  of  fine  stuff  for  their  hoods  and  scapularies. 
I marveled  to  see  how  curious  they  were  in  their 
choice,*  running  the  cloth  through  their  fingers 
— holding  it  up  to  the  light — disposing  it  around 
them  in  cunning  folds — and  discussing  its  merits 
with  the  dealers  and  with  one  another,  as  eagerly 
as  if  it  had  been  an  article  of  the  faith.  Scarce 
could  any  lady  at  the  court  of  my  lord  of  Er- 
bach  have  been  more  dainty.  Methinks,  if  this 
had  been  our  object,  we  might  have  found  a more 
gallant  costume. 

Brother  Conrad  held  himself  apart  the  while, 
and  once  or  twice  I saw  a smile  pass  across  his 
face — but  not  of  mere  amusement. 

The  merchants  spoke  of  a wonderfully  magni- 
icent  Christian  kingdom  amongst  the  wilds  of 
Asia.  From  their  description,  brother  Lupacius, 
who  studied  at  Paris,  concludes  it  to  be  some- 
where near  the  garden  of  Eden — but  many  of  us 
think  this  a rash  and  profane  speculation,  deem- 
ing that  the  garden  has  been  taken  up  into 
heaven. 

The  emperor  of  this  country  styles  himself 
Prester,  or  Priest,  John,  although  he  has  princes 
and  kings  amongst  his  servitors,  himself  prefer. 

* See  Neander’s  “Life  of  St.  Bernard,”  p.  81,  Miss  Wrench’s 
translation. 


34 


THE  DIARY  OF 


ring  the  title  of  Priest,  as  at  onee  more  lowly  and 
more  lofty — a singular  mark  of  enlightenment 
in  a barbarous  man. 

Note . — The  merchants  seem  to  understand 
rightly  the  controversy  between  us,  the  old  Be- 
nedictines, and  the  Cistertians,  speaking  evil  of 
these  last,  as  sanctimoniously  austere,  and  ill  pa- 
trons of  commerce  and  the  arts. 

August  24. — St.  Bartholomew.  Holy  Patron, 
pray  for  me  ! 

Our  bees  have  prospered  well  this  year,  yield- 
ing a goodly  store  of  honey  and  meat. 

Monday. 

Brother  Conrad  is  foot-sore  and  ill  from  his 
journey.  It  was  very  long,  and  he  seems  unused 
to  foot-traveling.  Nevertheless,  he  will  not  con- 
sent in  anywise  to  relax  the  severity  of  his  ab- 
stinences. 

This  evening,  I went  to  his  cell  with  a healing 
decoction  of  herbs,  which  hath  proved  of  mar- 
velous virtue  amongst  the  peasantry.  As  he  did 
not  answer  my  signal,  I gently  opened  the  door. 
He  was  kneeling  on  the  floor,  fervently  grasping 
*an  iron  crucifix  to  his  breast.  As  I entered,  he 
^rose,  and  hastily  threw  his  mantle  around  his 
shoulders,  but  I could  see  they  were  bleeding 
from  the  use  of  the  discipline.  He  asked,  rather 
haughtily,  what  I wanted.  I prayed  him  to  let 
me  bathe  his  feet.  Pie  refused  my  assistance 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


35 


courteously,  yet  so  that  I could  not  press  it.  As 
I left  the  cell,  he  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it  to 
his  lips,  saying,  “ Brother,  thou  hast  a good  and 
innocent  heart — pray  for  me.” 

I fear  he  has  committed  some  great  sin. 

Thursday . 

All  the  village  is  in  uproar  about  the  foreign 
monk.  Yesterday,  as  brother  Conrad  was  walk- 
ing, he  saw  a stout  peasant  carle  beating  one  oi 
Manuel  Reichardt’s  boys,  for  laming  his  mule  by 
hard  riding.  Without  saying  a word,  Conrad 
threw  back  his  cowl,  girded  up  his  garments,  and 
beat  the  man.  At  this  the  peasants  are  enraged, 
calling  him  a foreign  meddler,  but  Nannerl  takes 
his  part,  as  also  all  the  children,  to  whom  he  is 
ever  gentle.  NanneiTs  boy  was,  however,  a 
mischievous  and  idle  rogue  (very  unlike  his 
mother),  and  had  no  right  to  the  mule.  More- 
over, such  interference  comporteth  not  with  the 
dignity  of  the  religious  habit. 

Our  lord  the  Abbot,  taking  the  matter  into  his 
consideration,  has  condemned  our  brother  to 
penitence,  and  the  seclusion  of  his  cell.  Abstinence 
beyond  what  he  already  practices  is  scarce  pos- 
sible. 


Saturday . 

Our  lord  the  Abbot,  after  matins,  enjoined  on 
brother  Conrad  to  ask  forgiveness  from  the 
peasant  carle. 


36 


THE  DIARY  OF 


His  dark  cheek  flushed  high : “ I from  a villain !” 
he  murmured  between  his  teeth. 

“ On  the  obedience  of  a monk,  I command  you !” 
said  the  Abbot,  rather  fierily. 

Conrad  bowed  in  acquiescence,  went  to  the 
village,  sought  out  the  peasant,  and  made  the 
required  apology  in  my  presence. 

The  carle  would  have  made  him  a present  in 
acknowledgment  of  the  condescension,  but  he 
would  not  accept  it. 

“ The  slave  deserved  the  chastisement,”  he  said 
to  me,  as  we  returned. 

“ The  obedience  of  a monk  includes  submission 
in  will  as  well  as  in  act,”  I suggested. 

“I  know  it,”  he  replied;  “I  submit.” 

“ The  commandment  of  our  Lord  Jesus,”  I 
rejoined,  “reaches  the  heart  as  well  as  the  will; 
lie  said,  c Love  your  enemies.’  ” 

He  looked  down,  and  spoke  no  more  until  we 
reached  the  convent ; but  in  the  evening,  he  came 
to  my  cell,  and  said — 

“ You  are  no  hypocrite.  Do  you  mean  that  it 
is  possible,  from  the  heart,  to  love  those  who  have 
hated,  wronged,  and  meanly  slandered  us — not 
only  to  forbear  taking  vengeance,  but  to  love  ?” 

“ Jesus  said  of  His  murderers,  c Father,  forgive 
them and  thousands  of  them  were  forgiven,  and 
are  now  amongst  the  blessed  company  of  His 
redeemed.” 

“ He  was  God,”  said  Conrad  ; “ I am  a man 
and  a sinner.” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


37 


u Have  you  then,  yourself,  nothing  that  you 
need  to  he  forgiven  ?” 

He  looked  at  me  earnestly  and  sadly.  “I 
understand  you,”  he  said,  bitterly ; “ we  must 
forgive,  that  we  may  be  forgiven.  It  is  hard  to 
do  it,  but  not  to  do  it  is  hell.” 

“Nay,”  I replied,  “ we  must  forgive,  because 
we  are  forgiven.  We  must  love,  because  we  have 
been  so  loved.” 

But  he  seemed  to  have  fallen  again  into  his 
self-enclosed  state,  and  hastily  taking  his  lamp, 
he  left  my  cell. 

Wednesday. 

Brother  Conrad  seems  to  have  been  easier  in 
mind  lately,  having  been  actively  employed. 

He  had  observed  that  we  had  to  draw  all  our 
water  for  the  household,  the  cattle,  and  the 
garden,  from  the  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  which  is  nearly  a quarter  of  a mile  off. 
He  asked  why  we  did  not  dig  a well.  The  Abbot 
assigned  the  labor,  and  the  uncertainty  of  find- 
ing water,  as  the  reason. 

“If  I am  permitted,”  he  replied,  “I  will 
engage  to  accomplish  it  in  a week,  with  one 
laborer.” 

Most  of  us  deemed  this  an  idle  boast,  but  Otlio 
the  Thunderbolt  had  confidence  in  the  stranger, 
and  freely  offered  to  assist  him. 

They  accordingly  set  about  it  at  once.  In  a 
few  days  the  water  came  gushing  out  of  the  ex- 
4 


38 


THE  DIARY  OF 


cavation.  Otho  wondered  at  the  sagacity  with 
which  he  had  fixed  on  the  spot. 

“ I have  been  many  years  in  the  East,  where 
water  is  scarce,”  he  said  in  explanation.  I suppose 
he  was  with  the  crusading  army. 

He  has  also  shown  us  some  new  agricultural 
implements,  used,  he  says,  among  the  Provenuals, 
and  in  Languedoc,  a people  marvelously  skilled 
in  all  sorts  of  arts  and  handicrafts. 

Friday . 

To-day  a horse  was  brought  to  the  Abbey  for 
sale.  The  creature  was  beautiful,  but  withal  so 
wicked  and  ill-natured,  that  several  of  our  best 
riders  (and  I grieve  to  say,  there  are  more  among 
us  than  befits  a company  of  sober  and  peaceful 
world-renouncing  men,  who  are  skilled  in  the 
manege  of  chargers)  were  thrown  violently  to  the 
ground. 

The  horse  was  about  to  be  sent  back,  when 
Conrad,  who  had  been  watching  us  apart,  offered 
to  mount  him. 

First  whispering  in  the  animal’s  ear,  he  sprang 
on  his  back,  and  rode  him  round  the  court  and 
whithersoever  he  would,  guiding  him  like  a 
lady’s  palfrey. 

When  he  dismounted,  we  all  crowded  round 
him,  marveling  at  his  skill.  But  he  said  care- 
lessly, “ I learned  it  from  the  Arabs.  There  are 
many  among  them  who  ride  far  better;”  then 
disengaging  himself  from  us,  he  ] etired  to  his  celL 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


39 


Brother  Conrad  puzzles  us  all  sorely.  Some  of 
the  brethren  fear  he  may  have  been  a follower  of 
Mahound,  for  he  spoke  in  some  heathenish  jargon 
to  one  of  the  Italian  merchants,  of  which  none  of 
us  could  understand  a syllable.  And,  as  brother 
Lupacius  saith,  what  could  he  mean  by  “ learning 
from  the  Arabs?5’  how  can  one  learn  anything 
Christian  from  an  Arab  ? 

Yet  I feel  a strange  liking  for  him  ; to  me  he  is 
always  gentle  and  friendly.  Only  sometimes  I 
fear  he  may  have  mistaken  his  vocation.  Natures 
energetic  as  his,  and  accustomed  to  action,  will 
scarce  find  scope  or  employment  in  the  dead  calm 
of  our  life. 


December 

The  whole  Abbey  has  been  in  a tumult  for 
some  weeks.  The  sub-prior  is  dead,  and  we  have 
been  engaged  in  electing  a successor. 

He  lay  sick  for  many  weeks,  being  well 
stricken  in  years.  During  his  illness,  there  was 
much  plotting  and  conferring  in  the  convent; 
four  of  the  elder  monks  gathering  groups  of  two 
or  three  at  a time  around  them  in  corners,  at  our 
hours  of  recreation,  and  talking  earnestly  in  a 
low  voice. 

These  monks  were  very  courteous  to  one 
another ; yet,  if  one  of  them  saw  another  thus 
engaged  in  converse,  he  would  join  the  group, 
which  was  sure  soon  afterwards  to  disperse. 


40 


TIIE  DIARY  OF 


These  same  monks  were  very  tender  in  watch- 
ing the  symptoms  of  the  sub-prior’s  malady. 

Also,  the  office-bearers  have  been  marvelously 
diligent  in  their  business  of  late — increasing 
notably  the  while  in  courtesy  to  all. 

At  length  the  sub-prior  died  and  was  buried. 

For  some  days,  the  whole  brotherhood  stepped 
more  softly,  and  spoke  with  subdued  voices.  I 
mourned  the  old  man  from  my  heart,  for  to  me  he 
had  been  as  a father,  and  he  had  many  strange 
tales  of  the  olden  times.  Yet  were  his  last  years 
so  quiet  and  noiseless — his  voice  has  so  gradually 
become  hushed  among  us — that  it  scarcely  makes 
a silence,  now  that  it  has  ceased.  May  he  rest  in 
peace ! many  masses  will  I offer  for  his  soul. 

We  met  in  the  chapter-house,  and  after 
solemnly  chanting  the  Veni  Creator  Spiritus , the 
lots  were  cast. 

To  the  surprise  of  us  all,  the  lot  fell  on  brother 
Conrad,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

Whilst  some  of  the  younger  brethren  went  in 
search  of  him,  the  rest  began  to  whisper  together. 
At  first,  the  four  elder  monks,  whom  I have  men- 
tioned, seemed  relieved  to  find  that  neither  of  the 
four  besides  themselves  was  chosen;  but,  as 
brother  Conrad’s  absence  was  prolonged,  they 
drew  together,  and  conferred  in  angry  whispers. ' 
“ An  intruder !” — u a foreigner  !” — “ a foundling 
of  the  gallows  !” — “ an  Arabian  magician  !”  and 
many  other  rash  words,  dropped  from  them. 

The  good  men  suffered  the  heat  of  argument  to 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


41 


carry  them  away ; and,  ere  long,  the  whispered 
murmurs  rose  into  loud  debate,  and  the  debate 
into  a tempest  of  wrathful  words ; and  so  eager 
and  passionate  was  the  discussion,  that  brother 
Conrad  stood  five  minutes  amongst  them  before 
they  perceived  him. 

At  length,  our  lord  the  Abbot  arose,  and  after 
gesticulating  some  little  time  in  vain,  he  succeeded 
in  imposing  silence. 

Still,  however,  there  continued  a low  grumble 
of  discontent,  as  the  echo  of  thunder  among  the 
hills  when  a storm  is  gone,  and  we  wonder 
whether  it  will  return. 

“Brethren,”  said  the  Abbot,  “behold  him 
whom  you  have  chosen  to  succeed  our  venerable 
sub-prior.  May  the  choice  be  blest !” 

But  many  of  the  brethren  glared  angrily  on 
brother  Conrad,  and  the  storm  was  beginning  to 
rise  again. 

Brother  Conrad  stood  with  his  arms  folded  on 
his  breast,  calmly  awaiting  a pause,  with  that 
peculiar  smile  on  his  lips  which  I have  observed 
before,  until  the  Abbot  was  obliged  again  to 
interpose. 

“Brethren,”  he  said,  “are  we  not  a sacred 
council  of  priests,  guided  by  the  Spirit  of 
the  Highest  ? Behold  the  man  of  your 
choice.” 

Then  there  ensued  a sullen  calm,  and  Conrad’s 
voice  was  heard. 

“ I came  not  hither,”  he  said,  “holy  father,  to 

4* 


THE  DIARY  OF 


42 

rule  monks,  but  to  save  my  soul ; let  the  holy 
brotherhood  choose  some  fitter  man.” 

We  were  accustomed  to  this  formula  of  hu- 
mility in  the  newly-elected ; but,  to  our  surprise, 
brother  Conrad  persisted  in  his  refusal,  and  was 
not  by  any  means  to  be  moved  from  it. 

We  accordingly  proceeded  again  to  the  elec- 
tion, and  this  time  the  choice  fell  on  one  of  the 
four  elder  monks. 

With  this  the  assembly  was  obliged  to  be 
content.  The  new  sub-prior  has  been  solemnly 
installed,  and  brother  Conrad  is  honored  in  the 
convent  as  a model  of  humility. 

On  the  next  morning,  as  brother  Conrad  and  I 
were  journeying  together  to  administer  the  sac- 
rament to  a sick  man,  I said,  “I  rejoice  to  see 
that  your  heart  is  not  set  on  seeking  great  things 
for  yourself.” 

He  laughed,  and  replied,  “ I do  not  understand 
the  monks,  nor  they  me.  If  I had  desired  the 
greatness  of  this  world,  I would  not  have  sought 
it  in  an  obscure  monastery  of  the  north.  I have 
commanded  thousands  of  soldiers,  and  to  me  it  is 
no  point  of  ambition  to  rule  a few  monks.  I came 
hither  to  fly  the  world,  not  to  seek  it.  I came 
hither  to  live  in  quiet,  and  to  save  ray  soul.” 

Brother  Conrad  is  right,  and  I love  him  for  his 
honest  words;  nevertheless,  I marvel  that  he 
should  speak  so  slightingly  of  our  venerable 
Abbey — chartered  as  it  is  by  the  Emperor,  con- 
taining the  sacred  relics  of  a supreme  Pontiff— 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


43 


our  blessed  Lady  herself  having  marked  out  the 
site  in  a vision,  our  founder  being  in  the  calendar, 
and  our  Abbot  ranking  next  the  mitred  Abbots 
and  the  episcopal  throne.  He  can  scarcely  be  in- 
formed of  this,  or  he  would  never  have  used 
words  so  singularly  inappropriate  as  an  “ obscure 
monastery ,”  or  “ a few  monies”  Not  that  I am 
proud  of  these  privileges : no ! holy  Benedict 
knows  that  we  are  nothing  but  a company  of 
poor  and  humble  priests — the  servants  of  the 
servants  of  God. 

January  26. — St.  Poly  carp,  Bishop  and  Martyr . 

A post  arrived  to-day,  w7ith  messages  and 
letters  for  our  lord  the  Abbot,  and  a letter,  sealed 
with  a noble  escutcheon,  for  brother  Conrad.  The 
messenger  brings  sad  tidings  of  the  apostasy  of 
some  of  Bishop  Otlio  of  Bamberg’s  new  converts 
in  Pomerania,  and  the  sufferings  of  others.  Hear- 
ing and  reading  of  such  things,  how  it  shames  my 
languid  and  lukewarm  heart ! Thou  art  the 
same  to  us  as  to  them  ; oh  make  us  the  same  to 
Thee! 

I took  the  letter  to  brother  Conrad  in  his  cell. 
On  receiving  it  his  hands  trembled,  and  his  face 
turned  livid  in  its  paleness.  When  he  had  read 
it,  he  tore  it  passionately  in  twain,  murmuring, 

“ The  curse  of  God  ¥' then  suddenly  checking 

himself,  he  said  to  me,  “ Leave  me,  brother  Bar- 
tholomew, you  can  do  me  no  good  now.”  I had 
no  choice  but  to  leave  the  cell,  for  so  stern  was 


44 


THE  DIAEY  OF 


his  countenance,  that  I deemed  it  folly  to  resist 
his  will. 

January  30. 

For  these  many  days  none  of  us  have  seen 
brother  Conrad.  He  refuseth  meat,  and  denieth 
entry  to  all. 

February  1. — St.  Ignatius , Bishop  and  Martyr. 

To-day,  I knocked  at  the  door  of  brother  Con- 
rad’s cell ; receiving  no  answer,  I at  length  ven- 
tured to  enter  unbidden. 

He  sat  on  his  bed,  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground.  His  crucifix  lay  on  his  knees  ; his  face 
was  pale  and  drawn,  as  that  of  a man  who  had 
passed  through  some  great  agony  of  bodily  pain ; 
but  it  was  perfectly  calm,  and  so  was  his  voice 
when  he  addressed  me,  saying — 

“ Wherefore  do  you  come  here  ? you  can  do  me 
no  good.” 

But  I seated  myself  beside  him,  and  said, 
“ Brother,  I came  to  read  you  some  of  the  words 
of  peace,  fearing  that  you  have  suffered.” 

He  did  not  reply,  nor  did  his  features  relax ; 
but  lie  bowed  his  head,  and  receiving  no  further 
encouragement,  I opened  the  Psalter  at  the  32d 
Psalm. 

“ Blessed  is  he  whose  transgression  is  forgiven, 
whose  sin  is  covered.  Blessed  is  the  man  unto 
whom  the  Lord  imputeth  not  iniquity,  and  in 
whose  spirit  there  is  no  guile.” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


45 


“ Do  you  come  hither  to  torment  me  before 
the  time  ?”  he  exclaimed,  looking  sternly  and 
abruptly  at  me : “ in  my  spirit  there  is  guile. 
My  transgression  can  never  be  forgiven,  nor  my 
sin  covered.  The  words  of  peace  are  very 
swords  to  me,  for  I can  not  repent.  Those  who 
forgive  not  shall  never  be  forgiven,  and  I can  not 
forgive !” 

I was  silent,  and  after  a few  moments  he  pro- 
ceeded : — 

“ Listen,  if  you  will,  to  my  wrong.  I have 
told  it  to  none  beside.  I had  broad  lands  in  Ar- 
ragon,  and  castles.  I loved,  and  believed  myself 
beloved,  and  was  betrothed.  In  an  evil  day,  I 
took  the  Cross ; she  decked  me  with  her  colors 
when  I went,  and  I bore  them  triumphantly 
through  the  thick  of  many  battles.  I returned. 
Came  with  my  retainers  to  my  father’s  castle. 
There  was  feasting  there:  she,  my  bride,  was 
there,  and  my  younger  brother,  a scribe,  a 
lawyer,  a man  of  smooth  words  and  a comely 
face,  whom  I had  cherished  as  my  own  son,  for 
we  were  orphans — she  was  there,  his  wife  ! My 
lands  and  castles  were  my  own,  and  the  king  was 
my  friend ; but  what  were  they  or  he  to  me  ? 
they  could  not  restore  her  to  me,  or  to  the  truth 
and  beauty  of  soul  with  which  I had  clothed  her. 
I left  my  country  in  disguise,  and  came  hither  a 
monk,  resigning  my  titles  and  estates  to  them. 
They  took  advantage  of  my  absence  to  slander 
me  to  my  king ; lie  trusted  me,  and  revealed  their 


46 


THE  DIARY  OF 


treachery.  There  is  the  letter  they  have  sent 
me,  thanking  me  for  my  generosity,  and  begging 
me  formally  to  transfer  all  my  hereditary  rights 
— and  she  has  signed  it.  That  is  all  my  story.  I 
have  done  what  I can — I have  sent  them  what 
they  asked  for.  I will  not  curse  either  of  them 
— but  God,  you  say,  exacts  more.  I have  tried, 
but  I can  not  forgive.  You  can  do  me  no  good 
— I am  lost.” 

He  said  these  words  with  the  calm  of  fixed 
conviction,  as  one  to  Avhom  the  terrible  thought 
was  no  strange  or  doubtful  thing,  but  ascertained 
and  familiar.  But  I could  not  withhold  my  tears. 

When  I could  speak  again  composedly,  I took 
the  crucifix  from  his  knees,  and  said,  “ Brother, 
whose  image  is  this  ?” 

u I know  what  you  would  say,”  he  answered ; 
“ but  it  is  in  vain.  He  is  God.  His  heart  was 
tender  and  compassionate ; mine  is  hard — it  lias 
been  frozen  hard  in  its  own  tears.  He  forgave, 
but  I hate.  I sin  even  as  I speak,  and  can  not 
repent.  I do  not  murmur  against  God.  He  is 
just.  I am  lost — and  I deserve  it!” 

There  was  such  intense  and  fixed  anguish  in 
the  slow  calmness  with  which  he  uttered  these 
words,  that  I felt  any  words  of  mine  were  power- 
less ; and  kneeling  down,  I called,  at  first  in  si- 
lence, and  then  aloud,  on  Him  who  delighteth  in 
mercy. 

What  I said,  I do  not  exactly  remember ; I re- 
member only  that  I poured  out  my  whole  heart 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


47 


before  God,  calling  on  Him  wlio  is  so  near  to  the 
broken-hearted  to  have  pity  on  my  brother— - to 
heal  the  heart  men  had  broken,  and  to  bind  up 
its  wounds.  I knew  and  felt  that  the  Lord  was 
near  us — as  near  as  when  the  sick  and  fearful 
touched  the  hem  of  His  garment,  and  were 
healed,  and  the  guilty  outcast  wept  at  His  feet, 
and  was  forgiven — and  as  gracious.  I was  sure 
that  He  heard,  and  sure  that  He  would  keep  His 
promise,  and  give  what  we  asked.  Before  I rose, 
Conrad  had  sunk  on  his  knees  beside  me,  and 
when  I rose,  he  still  remained  kneeling. 

I waited  some  time  : then  placing  the  crucifix 
in  his  hands,  I said,  “ It  was  for  no  light  sin  that 
the  Son  of  God  left  His  glory,  and  became  obe- 
dient to  a death  such  as  this : nor  did  He  suffer 
such  things  in  vain.  My  brother,  you  ore  lost ; 
but  the  Lord  Jesus  came  to  seek  the  lost.  You 
have  mistaken  the  object  of  His  coming  alto- 
gether. He  came  not  to  judge,  but  to  save. 
Look  on  Him  your  sins  have  pierced,  and  live.” 

There  was  no  tear  in  his  eyes — no  sign  of  emo- 
tion on  his  face';  but  as  I left  the  cell,  he  grasped 
my  band,  and  said,  in  a scarcely  audible  voice — 

“ There  is  hope.” 


February  4. 

This  evening,  brother  Conrad  rejoined,  us  at 
the  reading  of  the  Scriptures.  We  are  reading 
through  the  Book  of  the  prophet  Isaiah.  The 
chapters  read  to-day  were  from  lii.  to  lvi. 


48 


THE  DIARY  OF 


“ Surely  lie  Lath  borne  our  griefs,  and  carried 
our  sorrows:  yet  we  did  esteem  him  stricken, 
smitten  of  God,  and  afflicted. 

“ But  he  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions, 
he  was  bruised  for  our  iniquities : the  chastise- 
ment of  our  peace  was  upon  him ; and  with  his 
stripes  we  are  healed. 

“ All  we,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray ; we 
have  turned  every  one  to  his  own  way ; and  the 
Lord  hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all.” 

And  again — 

u Ho,  every  one  that  thirsteth,  come  ye  to  the 
waters,  and  he  that  hath  no  money:  come  ye, 
buy  and  eat ; yea,  come,  buy  wine  and  milk  with- 
out money,  and  without  price.” 

Methought  the  living  words  never  brought  to 
my  heart  such  a warm  feeling  of  the  unmerited 
and  unutterable  love  of  God  before ; and  as  the 
lantern-bearer  went  his  rounds,  casting  the  light 
on  one  after  another,  I saw  that  brother  Conrad’s 
face  was  wet  with  tears,  and  he  did  not  try  to 
hide  them — a strange  thing  for  so  proud  a man. 

February  12. — St.  Eulalia , Virgin  and  Martyr . 

I never  saw  a man  so  changed  as  brother  Con- 
rad. His  heart  seems  opened ; it  is  as  if  a hand 
which  knew  the  secret  had  touched  some  hidden 
spring,  and  the  closed  vessel  had  sprung  open  in 
an  instant.  Instead  of  his  soul  being  a dark 
thing  folded  up  in  its  own  gloom,  it  seems  an 
open  house  full  of  peace  and  Lght,  and  warming 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


49 


all  who  come  near  him.  The  old  smile  of  con- 
temptuous pity  has  given  way  to  one  of  kindly 
interest.  In  place  of  the  dead  mechanical  sub- 
mission with  which  he  used  to  obey  the  com- 
mands of  the  superiors,  it  seems  now  his  joy  and 
his  “meat”  to  minister  to  all  as  the  servant  of 
Him  who  came  to  minister. 

This  evening,  as  we  returned  from  a visitation 
in  the  forest,  we  passed  Nannerl’s  cottage;  the 
children  (she  has  three  now)  were  standing  at 
the  door  waiting  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of 
their  father  as  he  returned  from  his  day’s  work 
at  the  Abbey.  When  he  came  in  sight,  they  all 
ran  out  to  meet  him.  The  two  eldest  clung  to 
his  coat,  the  youngest  tottered  after  them  until 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  covered  her  with 
kisses. 

“ What  is  it,”  said  Conrad,  wiien  we  had 
passed,  u to  be  able  to  call  God  Father!  ” 

“ Yes,”  I replied,  “and  heaven  home” 

God  gives  strength  by  giving  peace. 

To  Conrad  as  to  St.  Paul  the  Son  of  God  has 
been  revealed ; and  the  Spirit  of  God  fills  every 
corner  of  his  ruined  and  desolate  heart  with  the 
music  of  “ Abba,  Father.” 

February  14. 

The  poor  people  are  beginning  everywhere  to 
suffer  from  the  scarcity  of  the  late  harvest,  added 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  They  throng 
our  gates,  imploring  charity  for  the  love  of  Christ. 

5 


50 


THE  DIARY  OF 


Our  lord  the  Abbot  has  emptied  the  Abbey 
granaries  of  all  the  superfluous  corn ; and  this 
week  we  have  sent  brother  Theodore  to  Bam- 
berg, with  a trusty  escort,  to  sell  some  of  our 
most  richly  illuminated  manuscripts,  with  the 
gems  wherewith  they  were  studded.  Brother 
Theodore  almost  wept  to  see  his  beloved  manu- 
scripts thus  stripped  ; and  scarce  could  all  I said 
about  the  living  epistles  being  even  more  pre- 
cious than  the  written  ones,  assuage  his  grief. 
“ The  collections  and  labors  of  a century,”  he 
says,  “ scattered  in  a week,  and  betrayed  per- 
chance into  the  hands  of  the  ignorant  and  profane, 
or  of  some  rival  order  ! ” 

Also  we  have  sold  some  of  the  church  plate 
and  decorations,  and  sundry  of  the  more  costly 
vestments,  to  buy  corn  withal.  Some  murmur 
at  this  as  a desecration  of  holy  things,  but  brother 
Conrad  saith,  “It  is  but  laying  them  up  in  a 
safe  place,  until  we  want  them,  with  a sure 
Keeper.” 

He  himself  hath  been  very  busy  of  late  copying 
manuscripts  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  a new  occu- 
pation for  him  until  within  the  last  few  months, 
he  being  more  used  to  handle-  the  sword  than  the 
pen.  At  the  first,  his  letters  were  very  uncouth 
and  unchristian-like,  but  he  laughed  at  his  mis- 
takes until  he  conquered  them,  and  now  scarcely 
can  brother  Theodore  write  more  rapidly  or  in 
more  beautiful  and  legible  characters.  He  labor- 
eth  at  it  day  and  nig] it,  designing  to  sell  these 


BROTH  Ell  BARTHOLOMEW. 


51 


copies  for  the  famishing  peasants.  Also  the 
copying  of  the  holy  words  nourisheth  his  own 
soul : so  that,  in  watering,  “ lie  is  watered  also 
himself.” 

It  is  piteous  to  see  the  poor  starving  people 
thronging  the  Abbey  courts : mothers  holding 
up  their  crying  children,  themselves  complaining 
not — old  men  tottering  from  feebleness,  and 
stout  youths  from  famine.  We  are  expecting 
supplies  from  Bamberg. 

March. 

Brother  Conrad  seems  daily  to  grow  in  grace 
and  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures.  To-day 
he  said  to  me,  after  matins — 

“Once,  looking  on  the  height  from  which  I 
had  descended,  I thought  myself  a man  of  mar- 
velous humility,  until  looking  up  I saw  how  low 
my  Saviour  had  to  stoop  to  reach  me.  Now  I 
can  never  wonder  enough  at  my  pride  and  His 
grace.  Some,”  he  added,  “ paint  humility  with 
downcast  eyes,  looking  as  if  she  thought  every 
one  was  saying,  cSee  how  humble  she  is ! ’ but 
true  humility  looks  freely  up  to  heaven,  knowing 
what  she  is,  and  where ; and  then  forgetting  her- 
self in  thinking  what  God  is.” 

He  is  like  one  moving  softly  in  the  calm  of  a 
royal  presence.  Yet  I sometimes  tremble  at  his 
questions  about  our  Holy  Mother  Church  and 
her  doctrines.  His  mind  is  direct  and  simple  as 
a child’s;  and  having  caught  the  thread  of  a 


52 


THE  DIARY  OF 


truth,  he  follows  it  on  through  the  Scripture, 
without  ever  heeding  what  nets  he  may  tread 
through,  or  what  sacred  enclosures  he  may  tram- 
ple down  in  his  path.  I fear  whither  this  may 
lead  him. 

This  evening  we  had  been  sitting  in  the  dusk, 
discoursing  of  the  legends  of  the  saints,  and  their 
appearing  amongst  us — of  the  warrior  St.  James 
— of  him  who  was  pierced  through  with  many 
arrows,  yet  not  slain — of  the  virgin  Margaret, 
daisy  and  pearl  of  Paradise — of  the  lamb-like 
Agnes,  her  woes  and  her  triumphs — and  of  many 
others,  knights  and  ladies  of  the  court  of  heaven. 

Afterwards,  when  we  were  alone,  he  asked 
me — 

“ Why  pray  to  the  saints  when  we  may  speak 
directly  to  God  ? ” 

I was  somewhat  startled  at  the  abruptness  of 
the  question,  but  I said — 

“ In  our  monastery  we  may  all  apply  directly 
to  our  lord  the  Abbot,  yet  many  choose  rather 
to  prefer  any  suit  through  me,  knowing  that  the 
Abbot  has  a favor  unto  me.” 

u That  may  be/’  lie  replied;  “but  the  Abbot 
is  not  our  father,  nor  has  he  expressly  commanded 
us  to  make  known  all  our  requests  unto  him.” 

The  saints,  or  He  who  sanctifieth  them,  pre- 
serve us  from  all  rash  speculations ! nevertheless, 
the  growth  and  fervor  of  brother  Conrad  often 
shame  my  cold  and  slothful  heart.  I seem  not 
to  grow,  and  sometimes,  in  looking  back  to  the 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


53 


early  clays  of  my  Christian  life,  I am  ready  to 
cry,  “Where  is  the  blessedness  I spake  of  then?” 
It  seems  to  have  faded  away  like  a gleam  at  sun- 
rise on  a gray  and  rainy  day.  Can  it  then  be 
with  us  as  with  the  Church?  Are  the  early 
days  necessarily  those  of  freshest  love  and  purest 
zeal  ? 

This  would  seem  as  if  eternal  life  were  doomed, 
like  corruptible  things,  to  decreptitude  and  de- 
cay. But  no,  it  is  not  so.  St.  Paul  speaks  of 
growth — Conrad  grows ; the  fault  is  in  me — my 
heart  is  so  dead,  my  hope  at  times  so  feeble,  and 
my  prayers  so  mechanical : can  I have  mistaken 
my  vocation  ? 

tl  Rex  tremendse  Majestatis, 

Qui  salvandos  salvas  gratis. 

Salva  me  Tons  pietatis. 

“ Rccordarc  Jesu  pie 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  vise, 

Ne  me  pcrdas  ilia  die. 

“ Quserens  me  sedisti  lassus, 

Redemisti,  crucem  passus ; 

Tantus  labor  non  sit  cassas.” 


April  13. — St.  Justin  the  Martyr. 

Our  supplies  of  corn  are  arrived,  and  the  vil- 
lagers come  daily  to  the  Abbey  gates  for  their 
portion.  It  is  blessed  thus  to  be  stewards  of 
God’s  storehouses,  to  give  His  people  meat 
in  due  season,  though  it  be  only  meat  for  the 
body. 


54 


THE  DIAKY  OF 


April  23. — St.  George  the  Martyr. 

Yesterday  a young  Frenchman  visited  us  from 
the  University  of  Paris.  We  gave  him  a night's 
lodging,  and  he  repaid  us  by  proving  various 
theological  and  other  theses. 

I marveled  at  the  readiness  and  skill  with 
which  he  tossed  the  ball  of  argument,  and  caught 
it  again  more  deftly  than  the  expertest  jongleur  ; 
but  brother  Conrad  sat  silent  and  displeased — he 
afiecteth  not  such  juggler’s  play  with  truths. 

Many  curious  questions  were,  however,  started 
by  the  learned  student — as,  “Whether  angels 
could  strictly  be  said  to  fly,  seeing  spirits  have 
no  place,  whereas  flying  is  motion,  and  motion 
change  of  place.” 

“ Why  the  nose  was  placed  above,  instead  of 
below  the  mouth.” 

“ Yfhat  God  would  have  done  if  Adam  had 
not  listened  to  the  seductions  of  our  mother  Eve, 
and  eaten  of  the  forbidden  fruit.”  * 

Whilst  he  was  subtilely  debating  this  last 
point,  brother  Conrad  suddenly  rose,  and  con- 
fronting the  stranger,  said — 

“ When  a man  is  shipwrecked,  it  is  no  time  to 
be  discussing  the  conduct  of  the  helmsman,  or 
how  the  rope  was  manufactured  which  is  thrown 
out  to  save  him.” 

The  student  w^as  silenced  for  a moment,  then 
he  said — 


* SeeNeander’s  “ St.  Bernard.” 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


55 


“That,  reverend  sir,  may  admit  of  argument; 
permit  me  to  state  the  matter  syllogistically.” 

“ I am  no  scholar,”  rejoined  Conrad,  “but  this 
I know : when  our  Lord  shall  come  again,  there 
is  one  question  which  will  place  us  among  the 
saved  or  the  lost — ‘Do  you  know  me  as  the 
Redeemer  of  your  soul?’  And  if  we  can  say  Yes, 
all  the  wisdom  of  angels  will  be  opened  to  us 
afterwards  in  His  presence.” 

The  Frenchman  was  proceeding  to  debate  the 
point,  when  our  brother  laid  his  hand  gently  on 
his  arm,  and  said — 

“ Young  man,  I think  you  are  a disciple  of 
Peter  Abelard  ; he  is  a great  man,  but  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  is  infinitely  greater.  Read  His 
Word;  follow  Him;  He  can  save  you — Abelard 
can  not.” 

The  student  colored. 

“ Master  Peter  has  been  foully  slandered,”  he 
exclaimed ; “ but  all  admit  his  wisdom  now.  Who 
disputes  his  orthodoxy  here  ?” 

None  of  the  brotherhood  offered  to  enter  the 
lists  with  so  fierce  and  skilled  a combatant,  but 
Conradxsaid  quietly — 

“ I slander  none.  I knew  Abelard  at  Clugni ; 
he  was  a man  of  mighty  intellectual  power,  and 
has,  I trow,  passed  through  hard  conflicts.  To 
his  own  Master  he  standeth  or  falleth : but  I 
believe  his  scholars  trifle  with  truth  as  he  would 
never  have  dared.  There  is  nothing  so  far  from 
the  childlike  heart  to  which  God  reveals  His 


56 


TIIE  DIARY  OE 


secrets,  as  the  childish  vanity  of  those  who  play 
with  things  before  which  the  angels  veil  their 
faces.  Beware,  as  you  value  your  salvation,  that 
whilst  you  are  making  confects  and  dainty  dishes 
with  the  Bread  of  Life,  your  own  soul  do  not 
starve.” 

“ A worthy  man,”  whispered  the  student  to 
brother  Lupacius,  when  Conrad  had  left,  “ but 
lamentably  behind  the  age.” 

“You  were  hard  on  the  stranger,”  I said  to 
brother  Conrad  in  the  evening. 

“Was  I?”  he  said.  “ It  makes  me  shudder  to 
hear  sentenced  malefactors,  such  as  we  are,  play- 
ing with  the  message  of  pardon  and  deliverance 
the  Sovereign  sends  them  at  the  cost  of  such 
anguish  to  the  Deliverer.  That  man  can  never 
utter  truth  who  has  never  himself  felt  it  un- 
utterable.” 


J une. 

It  is  long  since  I have  handled  the  pen,  having 
been  laid  on  my  bed  by  severe  sickness.  Even 
now  my  hand  trembleth,  yet  must  I record  my 
thanks  to  Him  who  has  raised  me  from  the  gates 
of  the  grave. 

“ The  living,  the  living,  he  shall  praise  thee, 
and  declare  thy  truth.”  The  famine  was  followed 
by  a grievous  plague.  Want  and  hunger,  and 
irregular  feeding,  have  made  fearful  ravages 
amongst  the  peasantry.  I,  myself,  with  brother 
Conrad,  closed  the  eyes  of  many  who  had  been 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


57 


abandoned  of  their  kindred  ; not  without  hope  for 
some,  that  their  eyes  would  open  one  day  to 
welcome  the  morning  of  the  resurrection. 


Nannerl’s  youngest  child  died.  How  she 
watched  and  tended  it,  never  heeding  herself! 

Brother  Conrad  sat  with  me  day  and  night, 
during  my  illness  ; and  when  I began  to  recover, 
he  would  read  to  me  for  hours  together  in  the 


Sacred  Scriptures.  We  seemed  never  to  weary 
of  the  blessed  words.  To  me  they  were  as 
refreshing  draughts. 

When  I left  my  room  for  the  first  time,  at  the 
door  I met  Otho  the  robber.  He  seized  my  hands 
and  pressed  them  to  his  lips.  They  say  he  had 
watched  there  morning,  noon,  and  night,  waiting 
to  do  any  little  service,  and  was  not  to  be 
tempted  from  his  post  by  entreaties  or  remon- 
strances. 

How  could  I have  dreamed  that  Thou,  O Lord, 
wouldst  have  called  forth  such  streams  for  me 
from  the  rock ! 

They  led  me  into  the  convent  garden.  I sat 
for  an  hour  or  two  there  in  the  sunshine.  How 
the  birds^saug  that  day ! 


July  1. 

Brother  Conrad  has  taken  my  place  in  the 
hospital — I his,  by  the  bedside.  He  is  wondrous 
grateful  and  patient. 

At  times,  with  the  fierceness  of  the  fever,  his 
mind  wanders,  and  then  lie  seems  to  dream 


58 


THE  DIARY  OF 


himself  engaged  in  mortal  combat,  either  with 
the  infidels  or  other  fiercer  foes,  even  the  spirits 
which  believe  and  hate ; yet  he  seems  scarcely 
ever  to  lose  sight  of  Him  who  overcame  by  dying ; 
at  some  moments  appearing  to  cling  to  Him  as  a 
drowning  man  to  a plank. 

July  4. 

To-day,  as  I stood  in  the  sick-room,  just  as  the 
stars  were  going  out  in  the  gray  of  the  morning, 
he  spoke  to  me  very  feebly ; 1 went  to  his  bed- 
side. 

“I  have  been  lying  awake  long/’  he  said;  u I 
have  had  a fearful  conflict.  I sank  through  an 
abyss — an  abyss  of  darkness.  My  sins  weighed 
me  down  and  down  through  the  bottomless 
depths.  Beneath  me  was  nothing : everything  I 
clung  to  melted  away  and  sank  down  with  me — 
the  earth,  the  stars,  all  men,  and  all  they  have 
made.  Below  the  abyss  of  darkness  was  an  abyss 
of  fire ; slow  noiseless  flames  burned  on  and 
languished  not ; the  smoke  of  their  torment  went 
up  for  ever  and  ever.  I could  not  speak;  there 
was  no  sound  in  the  dead  air,  and  still  everything 
I grasped  slipped  from  my  touch,  and  I and  they 
fell  on  together,  noiselessly.  I despaired  utterly, 
yet,  from  the  depths  of  my  sinking  heart,  I 
grasped  Jesus/’ 

“ Then  my  hands  clasped  something  which  did 
not  give  way.  It  was  the  root  of  the  tree  on 
which  He  bore  our  sins.  It  went  below  the 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


59 


depths  of  the  fire,  and  was  not  consumed;  in  the 
universal  dissolution  it  stood  firm,  for  it  had 
foundations.  It  rested  on  God,  and  I rested  on 
it,  arid  as  I clung  to  it,  one  drop  of  the  precious 
blood  fell  on  me — the  blood  of  the  Son  of  God  ! 
The  fever  was  cooled — the  fire  was  quenched — in 
the  place  of  hell  stood  the  open  sepulchre,  and  on 
it  sat  angels  in  white  ; in  the  place  of  the  abyss 
of  darkness,  above  me  was  an  abyss  of  impene- 
trable light.  The  angels  floated  away  into  the 
heavens,  singing,  c He  is  not  here ; he  is  risen.’  I 
looked  after  them,  and  when  they  were  lost  in 
the  light,  other  voices  joined  them ; and  in  the 
distance  they  sounded  low  and  sweet  as  a voice 
from  the  depths  of  my  own  soul ; and  they 
sang — 

uc  There  is  joy  in  heaven and,  cIle  seeth  of 
the  travail  of  his  soul,  and  is  satificdf 

“ So,  with  their  songs  in  my  ears,  and  my  head 
on  the  foot  of  the  cross — below  me  the  empty 
tomb — I fell  asleep.  Now,  I have  been  lying  awake 
long,  wrapped  in  a sweet  calm.  It  was  a dream, 
brother  Bartholomew ; but  hell,  and  the  cross, 
and  the  resurrection,  are  no  dreams ; I am  awake, 
but  the  night  is  around  me  no  more ; all  is  day — 
eternal,  unutterably  blessed  day !” 

I knelt  beside  my  brothers  bed,  and  gave 
thanks  in  silence.  Then  I gave  him  some  fresh 
fruit ; and,  exhausted  by  the  effort  he  had  made, 
he  slept  again,  and  has  scarce  spoken  since  for 
this  day. 


60 


THE  DIARY  OP 


July  8. 

This  morning,  as  I watched  beside  him,  he 
said,  as  if  to  himself — 

( “ Yes ; it  is  true ! He  has  gone  down  to  the 

depths  for  us,  and  is  set  on  the  heights  for  us. 
He  that  believeth  hath  everlasting  Life  ! I be- 
lieve ; therefore  I live — live  for  ever  a life  of  un- 
speakable, undefiled,  unfading  joy.  ‘They  shall 
never  perish.’  ‘He  that  believeth  not  is  con- 
demned already.’  There  is,  then,  no  middle  state 
between  imperishable  life  and  condemnation. 
Here  we  may  pass  from  death  unto  life — there, 
there  is  a great  gulf  fixed  which  can  not  be 
crossed  over.  The  fire  of  God’s  just  wrath 
twice  seen — in  the  cross , forsaking  His  own  Son 
— and  in  hell . His  blood  must  be  upon  us  either 
to  cleanse  or  to  condemn.  Brother,”  he  said, 
turning  to  me,  “ was  the  work  of  expiation 
finished  on  the  cross  ?” 

“Unquestionably,”  I replied;  “having  by 
Himself  purged  our  sins,  He  is  seated  as  one 
resting  after  a completed  work,  at  the  right  hand 
of  God.” 

“ Then,”  he  said,  deliberately  fixing  his  pene- 
trating eyes  on  me,  “ there  can  be  no  purgatory. 
The  cross  is  the  only  purgatory  ! For  those  who 
believe  in  it,  no  second  purgatory  is  needed : for 
those  who  reject  it,  no  second  is  possible — there 
remaineth  no  further  sacrifice  for  sins.” 

I feared  to  engage  him  in  debate  just  then, 
dreading  recurrence  of  fever,  but  I conjured  him 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


61 


to  leave  such  dangerous  speculations  until  his 
soundness  of  mind  and  body  is  restored. 

He  smiled,  but  said  no  more,  desiring  me  to 
read  to  him  from  the  10th  chapter  of  St.  John. 
When  I had  closed  the  book,  he  said — 

“ He  is  the  Door  as  well  as  the  Shepherd  of 
the  fold : the  channel,  as  well  as  the  source  of 
life.  Then,  it  is  the  Lord  who  unites  us  to  the 
Church,  not  the  Church  to  the  Lord.  Where  He 
is,  the  Church  is ; where  He  is  not,  there  is 
nothing  but  death.” 

I said,  aThe  Church  is  the  steward  of  the 
manifold  grace  of  God.” 

“ Yes !”  he  replied ; “ and  it  is  required  of 
stewards  that  they  be  found  faithful.  If,  there- 
fore, the  Church,  priests,  sacraments,  saints,  seek 
to  come  between  us  and  our  God,  they  at  once 
hide  the  light  and  cease  to  shine.  In  eclipsing 
they  are  darkened.” 


Julij  9. 

To  morrow  he  is  to  leave  the  hospital  for  the 
first  time. 


July  11. 

Brother  Canrad’s  first  attendance  at  the  offer- 
ing of  the  adorable  sacrifice  since  his  illness. 

It  was  a high  festival,  being  the  day  of  the 
commemoration  of  the  holy  Benedict. 

The  silver  and  golden  vessels  of  the  altar  were 
all  uncovered ; the  church  glittered  and  glowed 
6 


62 


THE  DIARY  OF 


with  rich  decorations  and  stained  light.  The 
choristers  sang  with  voices  like  nightingales  or 
angels. 

But  in  the  afternoon,  Conrad  said — 

“How  much  of  what  we  call  church-music 
must  be  mere  noise  to  heavenly  beings! — the 
melody  in  the  heart  failing.” 

Again  he  thinks  that  the  sacrifice  of  the  cross 
being  complete,  it  is  mockery  to  profess  to  re- 
peat it;  and  being  divine,  none  but  God  can 
offer  it. 

Also,  he  deduces  from  the  writings  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  that  there  are  only  two  priesthoods 
in  the  Christian  Church — the  unchangeable  priest- 
hood of  Him  who  hath  entered  into  the  holy 
place  by  His  own  blood,  there  to  make  interces- 
sion for  us ; and  the  priesthood  of  the  whole  liv- 
ing Church  by  virtue  of  her  union  with  Him,  set 
apart  to  offer  spiritual  sacrifices. 

July  20. 

Brother  Conrad  seems  to  become  confirmed  in 
his  new  convictions.  Pie  hath  a perilous  way 
of  tracing  things  out  to  their  consequences,  which* 
I fear  may  lead  him  to  consequences  I shudder  to 
think  of. 

I never  have  felt  tempted  to  this. 

I also  believe  in  the  perfect  pardon  obtained 
by  the  perfect  atonement ; but,  nevertheless,  I 
thankfully  receive  the  absolution  of  the  ambas- 
sadors of  heaven. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW.  (fo 

I also  believe  in  the  sufficiency  of  the  one  Me- 
diator ; but,  nevertheless,  I am  glad  to  avail  my. 
self  of  the  intercession  of  the  saints. 

I also  believe  in  the  high  priesthood  of  the  Son 
of  God ; yet  I dare  not  question  the  existence  of 
a Levitical  order  in  the  Church. 

I conjure  him  not  to  speak  openly  of  these 
things.  He  promises  to  do  nothing  rashly,  but, 
saith  he,  “ I dare  not  teach  the  smallest  lie,  since 
the  truth  is  my  life.” 

Also  he  saith,  “ Every  truth  taught  me  is  a 
talent  intrusted  me,  therewith  to  trade  for  the 
glory  of  my  Lord.  In  hiding,  I waste  them.” 

He  says  he  believes  some  may  cling  so  close  to 
Christ,  that  ail  their  errors  lie  dead  and  nugatory 
outside;  but,  nevertheless,  he  asserts  that  all 
which  is  not  truth  is  falsehood,  and  all  falsehood 
is  pernicious — tending  to  lull  the  slumbering,  and 
to  harass  the  earnest ; that  all  which  is  not  armor 
is  a weight  burdening  us  and  hindering  our  course ; 
that  if  Jesus  himself  neutralizes  the  poison  for  us , 
it  is  still  poison  when  we  present  it  to  others. 

August  10. — St.  Laurence . 

Oth o the  robber  is  dead,  having  caught  the 
fever  from  us. 

“ Thou  receivest  sinners.”  i 

\ 

August  20.  i 

Woe  is  me ! to  what  is  my  brother  fallen ! 

A few  weeks  since  he  went  to  visit  a sick 
man.  The  man  had  led  a very  abandoned  life ; 


64 


THE  DIARY  OF 


his  heart  seemed  closed  to  all  brother  Conrad’s 
appeals ; but  as  he  was  leaving,  the  dying  man 
called  out  to  him,  “ Father,  you  are  a holy  man; 
when  you  come  to  see  me  again,  bring  me  the 
last  sacraments  of  the  Church,  and  I will  give 
you  all  the  money  I have  left,  to  offer  up  masses 
for  my  soul.” 

Conrad  was  shocked  at  the  request,  and  going 
back  to  the  bed,  he  said — 

“ The  pardons  of  God  are  free,  They  are  to  be 
had  by  those  who  want  them  for  asking,  but  not 
for  gold.” 

And  he  refused  to  receive  any  money  to 
pray  his  soul  out  of  purgatory,  even  telling  him 
that  God  offered  us  no  choice  besides  heaven 
and  hell,  conjuring  him  with  tears  to  accept  the 
pardon  so  dearly  bought  and  so  freely  given. 

But  the  man  persisted,  asking,  with  oaths, 
what  priests  were  for,  if  not  to  save  the  souls  of 
their  Hocks. 

And  so,  unshriven  and  unanointed,  he  died. 

At  his  death,  the  relations  came  to  the  Abbey 
and  complained  to  our  lord  the  Abbot  of  Conrad’s 
conduct. 

At  first  the  Abbot,  being  a man  of  an  easy 
temper  (although  fiery  withal),  would  not  believe 
the  report ; but  on  our  brother  being  called  and 
questioned,  he  deliberately  and  unhesitatingly 
confirmed  the  conversation  in  every  point. 

They  threatened,  exhorted,  and  disputed  with 
him — but  in  vain. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


65 


The  discussion  seemed  only  to  confirm  brother 
Conrad,  whilst  it  made  our  Lord  the  Abbot  very 
angry,  so  that  at  last  he  swore,  if  Conrad  did 
not  abjure  his  errors  within  three  days,  he  would 
excommunicate  him,  and  hand  him  over  to  the 
secular  arm. 

He  made  no  reply,  and  was  sentenced  to  be 
imprisoned  in  his  cell. 

The  three  days  elapsed  swiftly. 

At  length,  on  the  eve  of  the  appointed  day,  I 
obtained  leave  to  repair  to  his  cell,  and  make  one 
more  effort  to  save  him.  But  verily,  when  I 
entered  therein  and  saw  with  what  marvelous 
sweetness  and  composure  he  sat  awaiting  the 
morrow,  all  the  skillful  exhortations  I had  framed 
wellnigh  died  away  on  my  lips.  Yet  I believe  I 
spoke  to  him  faithfully  of  the  Holy  Mother 
Church,  reminding  him  that  she  who  had  born 
and  nourished  countless  hosts  of  saints  and  mar- 
tyrs was  worthy  of  all  reverence,  and  conjuring 
him  not  to  suffer  himself  to  be  cut  off  from  her 
communion ; but  he  said  with  a smile — 

iCMy  brother,  it  is  God,  and  not  the  Church, 
who  hath  begotten  and  nourished  the  saints  and 
martyrs;  ‘begotten  by  the  resurrection  of  Jesus 
Christ  from  the  dead,’  and  ‘ nourished  and  cher- 
ished by  the  Lord  Himself.’  This  outward 
framework  of  ordinances  and  institutions  is  not 
the  Church.  It  has  cost  me  much  to  learn  it ; 
but  truth  is  worth  everything.” 

Then  I entreated  him  to  remember  the  holy 
6* 


66 


THE  DIARY  OF 


words  with  which  she  had  sustained  him,  and 
her  divine  offices,  gently  leading  him  from  infan- 
cy to  manhood.  Where  martyrs  died  he  might 
surely  be  saved ; in  leaving  her,  what  security 
could  he  have  ? “ This/’  he  replied:  “ cmy  sheep 
know  my  voice,  and  they  follow  me,  and  none 
shall  pluck  them  from  my  hand.’  Ilis  voice  is 
in  the  Bible ; anything  which  seeks  to  silence 
that,  can  not  be  from  Him.  The  Church  can 
neither  give  life  nor  take  it.” 

I forebore  to  argue  further,  seeing  that  it  was 
vain,  but  we  knelt  once  more  together  and 
prayed. 

Can  the  devil  give  such  heavenly  composure  ? 
Can  any  but  God  inspire  such  prayers  ? Can  he 
be  right  ? 

Holy  Benedict,  and  Bartholomew,  and  Mary, 
mother  of  God,  forgive  me,  and  pray  for  us 
both! 

I can  not  hate  the  heretic,  but  a heretic  myself 
I will  never  be. 

Hi  * * * * Hi  H« 

It  was  midnight ; the  altar  lamps  were  lighted, 
the  solemn  service  commenced ; the  incense,  the 
lights,  the  awful  music — they  float  before  me 
like  a dream — only,  in  the  midst,  one  form  stands 
out  real,  as  if  I could  touch  it  now — one  brought 
there  to  be  degraded  and  cursed,  and  yet  with  a 
countenance  as  calm  and  radiant  as  that  of  the 
martyr  Stephen,  when,  looking  up,  he  saw  the 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


67 


glory  of  God,  and  Jesus  at  the  right  hand  of 
God. 

The  service  ceased ; the  lights  were  extin- 
guished one  by  one,  and  in  the  silence  of  the 
awe-stricken  assembly,  and  through  the  arches 
of  the  lofty  roof,  echoed  only  from  time  to  time 
the  terrific  words,  u Anathema!  anathema!  ana- 
thema ! ” 

And  the  excommunicated  heretic  was  led  back 
to  his  cell. 

My  brother — my  brother  Conrad — thou  who 
wast  my  companion,  mine  equal,  and  mine  own 
familiar  friend  ; we  took  sweet  counsel  together, 
and  walked  in  the  house  of  God  as  friends! 

What  if,  whilst  they  were  pealing  anathemas, 
the  Lord  Jesus  was  whispering,  “Come,  thou 
blessed  of  my  Father ! ” What  if 

[Here  occur  an  erasure  and  a blank  in  the 
manuscript.] 

# 

August  15. 

Brother  Conrad’s  cell  was  this  morning  found 
empty 

We  have  searched  for  him  everywhere,  but  in 
vain  ; we  can  discover  no  traces  of  him. 

In  my  heart  I can  not  help  half  rejoicing;  and 
our  lord  the  Abbot  is,  I trow,  not  sorry ; yet  to 
have  lost  thee,  my  brother,  my  son ! 


68 


THE  DIARY  OF 


Fragments  of  Letters  found  amongst  the  Secret 
Papers  of  the  Abbey  of  Marienthal , at  its  de- 
struction, during  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  [ Sup- 
posed never  to  have  reached  their  destination .] 

I 

FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER  THE  FIRST. 

In  the  name  of  Him  who  has  called  us  from 
idols  to  serve  Him,  the  living  and  true  God — and 
to  wait  for  His  Son  from  heaven — grace  and 
peace ! 

I,  Conrad,  write  these  words  unto  thee,  Bar- 
tholomew, my  friend,  and  my  brother,  knowing 
that  thou  wilt  often  have  wondered  at  my  sudden 
disappearing — to  tell  thee  of  my  safety,  and  of 
the  love  and  gratitude  with  which  I constantly 
remember  thee  ; giving  thanks  for  thee  in  all  my 
prayers. 

I send  this  packet  to  the  house  of  our  friend 
Magdalis,  there  to  be  left  for  thee  by  a trusty 
hand.  If  thou  desirest  to  hold  further  communi- 
cation with  me,  outcast  as  I am,  the  same  hand 
will  be  ready  to  receive  thy  missive ; if  not,  these 
lines  can  not  endanger  thee. 

I made  my  escape  by  wrenching  out  the  bars 
of  my  prison  windows.  I believe  I do  not  dread 
death,  having  met  it  often,  and  having  now 
learned  to  see  through  it — yet  life  is  precious 
when  we  can  lay  it  out  for  our  Saviour;  and  I 
was  glad  to  deliver  the  Abbot  from  blood- 
guiltiness,  and  thy  tender  heart  from  much  sorrow. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


69 


I reached  the  top  of  the  hill  which  bounds  our 
valley,  at  the  morning  twilight.  The  village  lay 
dim  in  the  mist,  the  Abbey  tower  rose  up  through 
it,  and  the  voice  of  the  river  came  to  me  like  the 
farewell  of  a friend  ; of  thee  I could  take  none  ! 
My  heart  misgave  me : I was  about  to  cut  the  last 
cable  which  bound  me  to  the  shore  of  happy 
days — the  birthplace  of  a new  life  ; but  I turned 
away.  The  boat  was  launched — the  little  creek, 
apart  from  the  tides  and  currents  of  the  main, 
was  left  behind,  and  with  it  my  regrets. 

There  are  but  two  calms,  the  calm  of  the  grave 
and  of  heaven — the  rest  of  death  and  of  perfected 
life.  To  rest  before  the  voyage  is  over  is  to  miss 
the  haven. 

I passed  through  valley  after  valley,  keeping 
on  the  skirts  of  the  forest : and  at  evening,  when 
the  long  shadows  crept  down  over  the  meadows, 
and  the  herds  of  goats  crept  on  before  them  in 
the  sunshine,  I stole  out  to  beg  a morsel  of  bread 
of  the  goatherd,  and  to  drink  of  the  stream.  With 
one  of  these  poor  herdsmen  I changed  clothes, 
and  in  this  disguise  entered  Heidelberg. 

It  was  a solemn  joy  to  lie  awake  at  night,  with 
nothing  between  me  and  the  infinite  starry 
heavens — nothing  between  my  soul  and  God. 

It  was  a feast  to  awake  in  the  morning,  in  the 
free  forest,  with  the  open  sky  above  me — to  feel 
that  I might  go  whithersoever  I would  ; and  yet 
to  know  that  all  my  goings  had  a purpose — the 
purpose  of  HiVn  who  guideth  us  with  His  eye. 


70 


THE  DIARY  OF 


I felt  I had  issued  from  the  dull  and  smoky 
lamplight  into  the  daylight ; from  a narrow 
monk’s  world  into  the  unbounded  God’s  world : 
and  the  world  was  a household,  and  I His  child  ! 

I prayed  earnestly,  that  if  there  were  yet  any 
in  the  world  who  lived  simply  by  the  eternal  life 
He  had  manifested,  and  the  rule  He  had  given,  I 
might  find  them — that  we  might  not  be  traveling 
the  same  road  in  the  same  service,  and  yet  walk 
as  strangers  to  one  another. 

For  many  weeks  it  seemed  as  if  I were  not 
heard. 

The  life  of  the  cities  was  as  a strange  discord 
to  my  ears;  they  seemed  like  cities  of  Cain — 
music  was  there,  and  workers  with  all  manner  of 
tools,  in  all  manner  of  metals  ; but  God  was  not 
there.  All  the  noise  was  but  to  drown  the  voice 
of  the  River  of  Life,  which,  meanwhile,  flowed  on 
beside  them,  bearing  them  swiftly  to  eternity. 

Priests  were  there,  and  cathedrals,  and  they 
sang  truths  which  might  have  saved  the  souls  of 
all  who  heard  them ; but  they  sang  them  in  a 
language  the  people  could  not  understand.  Was 
not  this  also  mere  din  to  drown  eternal  voices  ? 

They  made  the  church  windows  opaque  at 
f noon,  with  beautiful  colors,  that  men  might  see 
the  altar  tapers. 

And  there  were  processions,  and  preachers, 
preaching  pilgrimages  to  Jerusalem,  and  recount- 
ing the  merits  of  sacred  images,  and  dead  bones ; 
but  of  the  journey  each  man  is  going,  whether  he 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


7l 


will  or  no — of  the  living  God,  His  love,  and  His 
light — of  His  defaced  image  in  man,  and  its  resto- 
ration through  the  Second  Man,  the  Lord  from 
heaven — of  the  mystery,  now  a mystery  no  more, 
which  changes  us  from  homeless  and  aimless 
vagabonds  into  pilgrims  journeying  home,  with- 
hands  and  hearts  full  of  blessings — I heard  in  the 
high  places  not  a word. 

Oh,  if  men  did  but  know  what  Voice  they  are 
rejecting — what  are  its  words,  and  its  tones  ! 

Some,  indeed,  were  toiling  earnestly  to  reach 
the  heavens,  making  themselves  wretched  to 
please  God,  as  if  He  had  never  given  His  Son  to 
make  them  happy — toiling,  as  if  the  Light  of  the 
heaven  of  heavens  had  never  come  down  to  men, 
saying,  “ Come  (not  to  heaven — that  you  can  not) 
but  to  Me : I am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life ; 
in  Me  you  shall  live  and  rise.” 

It  was  all  the  old  heathendom — with  a Chris- 
tian name. 

And  again  I prayed  earnestly,  that,  if  any  still 
adhered  to  the  simplicity  of  the  faith  once 
delivered  to  the  saints,  I might  discover  them. 
So  I journeyed  on,  speaking  from  time  to  time, 
to  those  I met,  of  the  blessed  message,  if  by  any  4 
means  its  music  might  strike  on  a string  that  * 
could  echo  it.  Some  were  careless,  and  some 
mocked,  and  some  received  the  good  tidings 
eagerly,  yet  as  a new  thing.  None  seemed  to 
recognize  in  them  a familiar  voice. 

At  length,  one  day,  when  I was  about  three 


THE  DIARY  OF 


72 

leagues  from  one  of  the  free  cities,  1 fell  in  with 
a pedlar,  walking  beside  his  mule.  He  did  not 
look  like  a son  of  the  north  ; there  was  something 
in  the  grave  cheerfulness  of  his  countenance  and 
bearing  which  interested  me,  and  I accosted  him. 

He  displayed  to  me  his  wares ; some  few  of 
them  were  costly  silks  and  stones,  for  the  castle, 
but  the  greater  part  were  woollen  and  cheap 
ornaments,  for  the  peasantry. 

Then  he  asked  me  my  calling,  for  by  this  time 
I had  changed  my  herdsman’s  dress  for  that  of  a 
burgher,  earning  the  pric£  by  copying  manu- 
scripts. 

“I,  too,  am  a merchant,”  I replied;  “but  all 
my  property  is  invested  in  one  jewel.  Your  goods 
perish  in  the  using,  mine  multiply.” 

He  looked  at  me  with  peculiar  earnestness. 
“ Incorruptible  things  are  not  bought  and  sold,” 
he  said,  significantly. 

“No!”  I rejoined:  “ Freely  ye  have  received, 
freely  give.” 

He  paused,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  me  with  a 
gaze  of  eager  inquiry,  he  said  in  Provengal 
French — 

“ Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you, 
and  shall  separate  you  from  their  company,  and 
shall  reproach  you,  and  cast  out  your  name  as 
evil,  for  the  Son  of  man’s  sake.” 

My  father’s  castle  was  near  the  Pyrenees,  and 
I knew  the  Provengal  dialect  well,  and  replied 
by  continuing  the  quotation — 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW.  13 

u Rejoice  ye  in  that  day,  and  leap  for  joy  ; for 
behold  your  reward  is  great  in  heaven  ; for  in  the 
like  manner  did  their  fathers  unto  the  prophets.” 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  we  embraced  each 
other  as  brethren.  When  He  shall  come  with 
clouds,  there  will  be  many  rapturous  recogni- 
tions; but  few  will  surpass  the  pure  joy  of  that 
day  to  me. 

“ I thought,”  he  observed,  “ when  first  you 
spoke  to  me,  that  you  were  one  of  us — and  yet  I 
scarcely  knew  why.” 

“Are  there,  then,  many  of  you?”  I asked, 
eagerly. 

For  a moment  he  glanced  at  me  half  suspi- 
ciously. 

“ You  must  know  as  well  as  I do,”  he  replied, 
laconically : “ the  birds  of  the  air  have  their 
nests !” 

Then  I related  to  him  my  history,  at  least  as 
much  as  was  needful,  and  when  I had  finished,  he 
grasped  my  hand  again,  more  cordially  than  be- 
fore, saying — 

“ Blessed  are  those  who  have  never  been  within 
the  walls  of  Babylon  ! — more  blessed  they  who 
have  burst  her  bonds  and  come  out  of  her !”  * 

And  he  briefly  sketched  to  me  the  story  of  his 
own  life. 

His  name  was  Peter  Waldo;  his  native  place 

* It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  if  the  Vaudois,  and  other  Christian 
sects  of  the  Middle  Ages,  like  the  early  Reformers,  concluded  the 
form  of  Antichristian  power  predominant  in  their  days  to  have  been 
the  final  one.  They  are  constantly  spoken  of  as  having  done  so. 

7 


74 


THE  DIARY  OF 


Lyons.  The  sudden  death  of  a friend,  at  a feast, 
had  first  turned  bis  heart  to  God  and  His  Word. 
In  reading,  like  myself,  he  became  convinced  that 
the  Church  of  the  Pope  was  not  a divine  institu- 
tion— not  the  true  Church,  but  the  dead  image  of 
a church,  moved  not  by  the  breath  of  life,  but 
by  machinery.  Because  he  believed,  he  spoke, 
and  then  he  found  that  many  had  believed  and 
spoken  the  same  things  before.  It  had  not  been 
left  for  him  to  disinter  the  pearl — thousands  pos- 
sessed it  already..  The  truth,  in  making  him  free, 
had  not  isolated  him,  but  had,  for  the  first  time, 
brought  him  into  a brotherhood  of  Christian 
people.  Henceforth,  having  received  the  promise 
of  an  eternal  inheritance,  he  joyfully  confessed 
himself  a stranger  on  the  earth,  living  not  to 
himself  but  to  Him  who  died  for  us.  He  caused 
two  translations  of  the  Bible  to  be  made  into  the 
vulgar  dialects  of  France  and  Piedmont,  spending 
his  whole  wealth  in  multiplying  copies  of  these, 
and  in  assisting  the  poor  of  the  flock.  The  priests 
and  magistrates  cast  him  out  of  Lyons,  and  now 
they  persecute  him  from  city  to  city  ; but  every- 
where he  scatters  precious  seed,  selling  perish- 
able goods,  that  he  may  be  enabled  freely  to  give 
the  imperishable ; preaching  the  gospel  of  the 
kingdom,  and  gathering  together  the  children  ol 
God  that  are  scattered  abroad.* 

The  multitudes  which  follow  this  way  in  all 

* For  this  account  of  Waldo  and  the  Christian  sects  of  the  Middle 
Agee,  see  Mosheim,  Milner,  Host’s  History  ae  VEglise  des  Freres , 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


75 


places,  but  more  especially  in  Bohemia,  the  south 
of  France,  and  amongst  the  Alps  of  northern 
Italy,  are  incredible — but  I withhold  details, 
from  reasons  which  thou  mayest  well  surmise. 

There  are  also  some  wild  and  fanatical  people, 
led  away  by  their  own  fleshly  minds,  or  by  false 
teachers,  who  suffer  themselves  to  be  misled  by 
an  unchastened  zeal,  to  resist  the  authorities  and 
pull  down  the  churches;  and  these  the  persecutors 
take  pains  to  confound  with  the  simple  Christians, 
massing  them  all  together  as  Manichean  heretics : 
but  they  are  no  more  allied  than  art  thou,  my 
brother,  to  those  that  burn  them. 

Before  I close,  I will  give  thee  a brief  account 
of  their  manner  of  assembling  and  wmrshiping^ 
and  my  admission  amongst  them,  refraining  from 
indicating  the  place  otherwise  than  as  a city  in 
Swabia. 

It  was  at  the  house  of  a poor  weaver.  Peter 
Waldo  led  me  to  the  door  at  the  dusk  of  the 
evening.  We  were  admitted  in  silence,  and  the 
door  barred  after  us.  Then  passing  singly  through 
a dark,  narrow  passage,  the  master  of  the  house 
pressed  the  floor  at  the  end  of  it  with  his  foot, 
and  innpediately  a trap-door  sprang  open,  re- 
vealing a stone  staircase.  We  descended  into  a 
low  damp  cellar,  where  twenty  or  thirty  people, 
men  and  women,  were  already  gathered  around 
one  whom  they  seemed  to  recognize  as  their 
teacher  and  president.  He  approached  us,  and 
embracing  my  companion,  welcomed  me  amongst 


76 


THE  DIARY  OP 


them.  When  it  was  stated  that  I wished  to  join 
them,  he  said — 

44  Then  you  have  learned  the  meaning  of  the 
peace  of  God  ? — for  in  the  world  we  have  nothing 
to  offer  you  but  tribulation.” 

44 1 have,”  I replied ; u to  me  all  things  are 
dross  compared  with  the  knowledge  of  Christ 
Jesus  my  Lord.” 

44  It  is  well,  my  brother,”  he  said  ; 44  for  if  we 
be  dead,  we  believe  that  we  also  live  with  Him 
— if  we  suffer , we  shall  also  reign  with  Him. 
The  kingdom  of  God  shall  yet  be  set  on  high 
amongst  men,  and  the  high  places  of  the  proud 
shall  be  cast  down.  For  the  day  of  the  Lord 
shall  be  to  us  a day  of  redemption.” 

Then  the  whole  assembly  joined  in  a circle 
round  me,*  whilst  I knelt  before  the  president, 
and  he  laid  the  book  of  the  Gospels  on  my  head, 
repeating,  in  a low,  impressive  voice,  the  Lord’s 
Prayer,  and  the  first  verses  of  the  Gospel  of  St. 
John. 

“ Blessed,”  he  said,  in  addition,  to  me,  44  art 
thou!  for  flesh  and  blood  hath  not  revealed  it 
unto  thee,  but  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven.” 

And  as  I rose,  the  brethren  greeted* me  with 
the  holy  kiss  of  brotherhood. 

I thought,  brother  Bartholomew,  of  another* 
midnight  service — of  the  extinguished  lights,  the 
degradation  and  the  curses — and  I felt  that  even 
here  I had  been  repaid  an  hundredfold. 

* This  account  of  the  form  of  admission  is  historical. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


11 


“ For  I am  persuaded,”  as  tliou  knowest,  “that 
none  of  these  things  can  separate  us  from  the 
love  of  God  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.” 

The  president  then  read  some  chapters  from 
the  Bible ; and  after  a short  explanation  and  a 
prayer — in  which  they  prayed  also  for  the  per- 
secutors, and  for  all  in  authority — and  the  sing- 
ing of  a hymn,  we  separated,  drawn  close  to  one 
another,  and  to  our  Lord,  by  the  Spirit  of  adop- 
tion, and  the  presence  of  Him  whom  no  splendid 
offerings  nor  gorgeous  ceremonial  can  charm 
amongst  us,  but  who  is  ever  with  the  two  or 
three  gathered  in  His  name. 

Every  one  who  attended  that  meeting  was 
there  on  pain  of  death  if  discovered,  so. that  no 
mere  “smooth  words”  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient to  sustain  us.  The  Word  was  preached 
with  manifestation  of  the  Spirit  and  power — for, 
brother  Bartholomew,  it  is  a certain  truth  that 
•the  Spirit  of  God  is  sent  forth  from  on  high,  and 
abideth  perpetually  in  the  living  temple  of  the 
living  God,  as  with  every  quickened  soul. 

The  Church  is  not  orphaned. 

There  is  a Vicar  of  Christ  on  earth,  and  an  In- 
fallible Teacher,  the  other  Comforter . 

But  it  is  not  the  Pope.  | 

i' 

FRAGMENT  OF  LETTER  THE  SECOND. 

Not  receiving  any  answer  from  thee,  I yet 
venture  to  write  thee  again,  believing  that  thy 


78 


THE  DIARY  OF 


letter  may  have  miscarried,  and  that  mine  can 
bring  thee  into  no  trouble. 

I have  traveled  through  many  places  since  last 
I wrote  thee,  and  everywhere  found  fragments  of 
this  blessed  brotherhood,  bound  together  by  no 
secret  vows  or  concerted  signals,  distinguished 
by  no  peculiar  garb,  yet  fitting  together  as  exactly 
as  the  fragments  of  a torn  letter  ; recognizing  one 
another  as  the  children  of  one  family  by  the 
mysterious  tie  of  kindred — loving  one  another 
with  the  natural  affection  of  new-created  hearts. 

I have  found  them  among  the  industrious 
craftsmen  of  the  trading  cities ; in  Languedoc, 
amongst  the  noble  and  learned  of  the  land,  but 
chiefly  amongst  the  recesses  of  the  mountains — 
God’s  citadels  of  old  for  His  oppressed  people. 
Especially  amongst  the  Alps  of  northern  Italy,  on 
the  old  Roman  highroad  from  Italy  to  Gaul,  they 
are  gathered  in  great  numbers.  Elsewhere,  they 
meet  and  part  in  secret,  or  are  scattered  in 
families,  or  one  by  one;  but  there  they  are 
gathered  together  in  villages,  and  meet,  in  the 
summer,  in  the  open  air,  pealing  their  thanks- 
givings, as  loud  as  they  will,  to  heaven. 

There  are  no  churches  so  grand  as  theirs, 
brother  Bartholomew — cathedrals  of  God’s  own 
building : gigantic  rocks,  mountains  clothed  like 
saints  in  white,  girding  them  around  : for  their 
organ  and  instruments  of  music,  the  voices  of 
many  waters;  for  their  sacrifices,  the  offering  of 
redeemed  and  thankful  hearts. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


79 


An  “ old,  bad  race  of  men,”  their  enemies  call 
them;  and  some  of  themselves  say,  that  the 
Apostle  Paul  himself  first  planted  their  Church, 
and  that  it  has  been  watered  by  the  constant  in- 
flux of  Christian  exiles,  persecuted  first  by  Im- 
perial, and  since  by  Ecclesiastical  Rome,  men 
who  counted  the  reproach  of  Christ  greater  riches 
than  the  treasures  of  Egypt.  There  is- an  apostolic 
succession,  my  brother,  but  it  is  not  continued  by 
the  laying  on  of  men’s  hands. 

They  speak  much  and  reverently  of  one  Claude, 
Bishop  of  Turin,  who  died  about  three  hundred 
years  ago,  as  a pillar  of  their  Church.  They  are 
a brave  and  industrious  people,  hardened  by  toil 
and  danger — for  though  some  of  their  valleys  are 
fertile,  it  tasks  their  strength  to  the  utmost  to  eke 
out  a subsistence  from  their  mountain  fields  and 
pastures ; and  though,  as  yet,  no  persecution  has 
wasted  their  valleys,  they  live  in  constant  perils, 
and,  as  it  were,  with  their  lives  in  their  hands — 
or  rather,  in  God’s  hands. 

In  winter,  many  of  the  men  will  travel  fifteen 
or  twenty  miles  on  the  Sunday,  swimming 
through  rivers,  and  scaling  mountains,  to  hear 
the  Word  of  God,  and  meet  their  brethren  and 
pastors ; and  this,  not  because  they  deem  such 
meetings  necessary  to  save  their  souls,  but  because 
of  the  joy  it  gives,  and  the  burning  of  the  heart, 
■when  a few  disciples  meet  together  in  the  name 
of  Jesus — and  He  in  the  midst.  Many  noblemen 
and  women  of  rank  join  them;  some  relinquishing 


80 


THE  DIARY  OF 


wealth,  and  country,  and  kindred,  to  serve  their 
God  in  peace;  and  others  residing  in  the  castles 
which  crown  the  heights  of  their  valleys.  There 
is  a religious  order — God’s  clergy,  the  lot  of  His 
inheritance — set  apart  from  the  world,  not  by 
distinctive  vows  or  habit,  but  simply  by  holding 
forth  the  truth  which  the  world  hates,  and  living 
the  life  of’ holiness  which  the  world  despises — 
separated  from  the  wanderers  by  going  straight 
forward— marked  out  from  the  darkness  by  shin- 
ing— cast  out  by  men,  and  set  on  high  by  God. 

There  is  a holy  war,  but  its  weapons  are  not 
carnal ; and  a taking  of  the  cross,  but  it  is  not  a 
sign  of  glory  amongst  men. 

I am  living  now  with  Henri,  a poor  weaver  of 
Lyons,  the  native  city  of  my  friend,  Peter  Waldo. 
Indeed,  so  many  of  the . simple  Christians  here 
follow"  this  craft,  that  they  are  commonly  called 
the  tisserands , or  poor  men  of  Lyons.  But  long, 
I believe,  I shall  not  be  able  to  remain  here,  the 
Abbot  Bernard,  of  Clairvaux,  having  excited  the 
city,  of  late,  against  us.  I remember  thy  speaking 
of  him  as  a Christian  man — alas  ! how  many,  even 
of  such,  know  not  what  they  do ! 

Our  life  is  very  quiet  and  simple.  I maintain 
myself,  and  assist  the  family  of  my  host,  by  copy- 
ing and  translating  manuscripts  of  the  Scriptures : 
thus  also  sowing,  whilst  I reap.  At  leisure  hours, 
I take  rounds  amongst  the  neighboring  villages 
and  towns,  sometimes  with  a pedlar’s  wares, 
sometimes  without.  The  common  people  for  the 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW, 


81 


most  part  hear  us  gladly,  and  not  a few  believe. 
Of  these,  some  remain  attached  outwardly  to  the 
old  ecclesiastical  system,  and  some  openly  forsake 
it ; this  we  leave  to  every  man’s  conscience,  our 
chief  aim  being  to  unite  souls  to  Christ,  and  then 
to  leave  them  with  Him. 

We  have  had  trouble  in  our  family  lately, 
Henri  having  been  laid  on  his  pallet  by  fever  and 
prostration  of  strength  for  many  weeks. 

His  lying  there,  so  uncomplaining,  often  even 
triumphing  amidst  his  pain,  seems  to  hallow  the 
cottage  into  a temple  for  all  of  us.  As  I sit  at  my 
desk  in  the  other  corner  of  the  room,  I hear  him 
repeating  whole  psalms  and  books  of  the  Bible 
to  himself — for  thus  it  is  our  wont  to  make  up 
lor  the  scarcity  of  the  copies  of  the  Sacred  Script- 
ures. 

At  times,  he  calls  us  all  to  praise  the  Lord 
with  him;  and  then,  the  children  joining  us,  we 
sing  a hymn  around  his  bed. 

Before  meals,  it  is  customary  with  us  either  to 
kneel  in  silence  for  the  space  of  twenty  or  thirty 
Pater  Fosters,  giving  thanks  in  the  depths  of  our 
hearts,  or  our  brother  Henri  will  offer  up  some 
simple  grace,  such  as — “ Thou  who  didst  feed  the 
five  thousand,  feed  us” — “ Thou  who  givest  us 
this  bodily  nourishment,  deign  also  to  feed  our 
souls.” 

Henri’s  poor  wife  is  generally  almost  as  patient 
as  lie  is,  although  it  is  so  much  sadder  to  see 
those  we  love  languish  and  suffer,  than  to  suffer 


82 


THE  DIARY  OF 


ourselves.  But  enduring  as  she  usually  is,  the 
other  day  her  faith  seemed  to  fail ; — her  husband’s 
recovery  so  long  hoped  for  and  so  long  deferred, 
and  my  manuscripts  having  failed  to  sell ; one 
little  sickly  child  crying  fretfully  on  her  knee — 
the  others  clinging,  hungry  and  half-clad,  around 
her : she  hid  her  face,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

tc  O Henri !”  she  murmured,  “ what  have  we 
done,  that  our  prayers  can  not  reach  the  Lord  ?” 

He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  said,  “ Alette, 
they  have  reached  Him.  He  is  only  keeping 
back  the  help  until  the  best  moment  comes.” 

“ Our  need  can  scarcely  be  sorer,  Henri !”  she 
said.  “ Can  He  love  us,  and  know  it  all,  and  not 
help  ?” 

“ He  is  helping  us,  Alette ; He  is  teaching  us 
now  one  of  His  best  lessons — the  lesson  all  have 
had  to  learn  in  turn.  He  is  teaching  us  to  trust 
and  wait . He  is  watching  us,  to  see  how  we  are 
learning  it.  Let  us  look  up  to  Him,  Alette,  that 
we  may  hear  His  voice  in  the  storm.  Let  us  ask 
Him  to  bless  us  in  the  trial,  and  I am  sure  He 
will  bless  us  after  it.” 

And  we  knelt  together,  and  prayed,  and  were 
heard. 

Ah ! brother  Bartholomew,  there  is  no  disci- 
pline  like  God’s.  We  seek  to  discipline  the  heart 
by  hardening  it — He  by  melting  it.  And  there 
is  no  comfort  like  God’s.  Our  medicines  weaken 
the  constitution  in  relieving  the  disease ; His 
strengthen  the  heart,  while  they  heal  the  wound. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


83 


It  is  a grievous  mistake  to  abstract  ourselves 
from  all  the  bracing  air  of  everyday  life,  and  the 
softening  training  of  home,  to  the  mechanical 
routine,  and  the  dull,  close  atmosphere  of  a con- 
vent— to  substitute  our  dead  machinery  of  rules 
and  abstinences  for  the  living  school  of  God. 

It  is  a blessed  thing  to  be  immediately  under 
the  guidance  of  His  hand,  cost  what  it  may. 

I have  taken  my  revenge  on  my  younger 
brother,  and  on  her.  I have  left  them  a New 
Testament,  copied  by  my  own  hand,  with  the 
promise  that  they  will  read  it. 

LETTER  THE  THIRD — THE  PRISON  AT  COLOGNE. 

The  Abbot  Bernard  has  succeeded  in  scatter- 
ing our  flock  at  Lyons,  aided  by  the  excesses 
which  some,  in  their  untempered  zeal,  committed. 
Some  of  us  have  fled  to  the  Alps,  some  to  Hun- 
gary, Bohemia,  Austria,  and  Swabia.  I myself 
went  northward  once  more  ; but  they  have  cap- 
tured me  at  last,  with  many  others.  This  must 
be  my  last  farewell  to  thee,  my  brother,  for  to- 
morrow we  die ! 

This  evening,  we  made  of  the  portion  of  bread 
and  water  which  they  gave  us  a holy  supper, 
trusting  that  He  whose  word  made  the  water 
wine  would  not  regard  the  imperfectness  of  the 
symbol.  His  presence  made  the  prison  fare  a 
heavenly  feast. 

It  was  the  last  meal  we  shall  eat  on  earth;  it 


84 


THE  DIARY  OF 


seemed  more  like  the  first  in  heaven.  To-day 
we  have  once  more  shown  forth  His  death ; to- 
morrow,  we  shall  be  with  Him  for  ever,  and  then 
the  long  to-morrow  of  the  day  of  the  resurrec- 
tion ! For  to-morrow  we  are  to  die  at  the 
stake ! 

This  has  the  Abbot  Bernard  effected  (not  that 
I believe  he  himself  wished  to  compass  our 
death).  If  we  meet  one  another,  by  and  by, 
redeemed  and  cleansed  by  the  same  precious 
blood,  how  he  will  wonder  at  his  own  work ! 

But,  for  us,  how  is  it  possible  to  resent,  when 
so  soon  we  shall  stand  before  Him  with  whom 
we  have  none  of  us  anything  to  plead  but  Him- 
self! 

“ Thou  hast  redeemed  us  by  thine  own  blood.” 

We  have  a sure  anchor,  reaching  to  that  with- 
in the  veil,  even  Christ  in  us,  and  “ in  heaven  v — 
“ the  hope  of  glory.” 

The  last  storm  is  coming  on  me — the  vessel 
tosses — the  flesh  trembles ; but,  my  brother,  the 
Anchor  is  firm  ! 


[For  many  years  a blank  occurs  in  brother 
Bartholomew’s  chronicle;  then  it  recommences 
in  a feeble  and  tremulous  hand,  and  after  noting 
one  day,  closes  abruptly.] 

Marienthal , November  1. — All  Saints. 

It  is  long  since  I have  written  anything. 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


85 


Tilings  have  changed  since  brother  Conrad  left. 
The  whole  convent  seems  to  look  suspiciously  on 
me,  as  his  friend,  and  perhaps  the  accomplice  of 
his  flight.  In  clearing  myself  from  this  latter 
imputation,  I have  sometimes  been  led  to  say 
more  than  I meant  against  him,  and  afterwards 
my  heart  has  reproached  me  bitterly.  He  was 
ever  with  me,  as  a son  with  his  father;  and 
sometimes  I tremble,  thinking  that  I misled  him, 
and  that  I myself  have  been  rash  and  presumpt- 
uous in  my  belief,  taking  too  much,  and  too 
boldly,  from  the  Bible,  and  looking  with  too 
little  reverence  to  the  fathers  and  rulers  of  the 
Church. 

And  then  the  seducing  thought  comes — 
“ What,  after  all,  if  he  be  right  and  thou  wrong?” 
And  in  the  tumult  and  confusion  of  the  many 
voices  in  my  old  brain,  I can  not  always  tell 
which  are  the  devils  and  which  the  angels. 

Mother  Magdalis  died  a few  weeks  after 
brother  Conrad  disappeared,  and  a stranger, 
whom  I mislike  and  mistrust,  occupies  her  cot- 
tage. It  is  singular  I should  never  have  heard 
from  brother  Conrad  ; sometimes  I think  he  may 
have  written,  and  his  letters  miscarried,  or  been 
withheld , for  why  else  do  they  watch  me  so  sus- 
piciously, and  never  suffer  me  to  visit  and 
preach  to  the  poor  peasants  around,  as  I used  to 
do? 

Once,  Nannerl  told  me  (she  always  loved  him 
since  he  rescued  her  boy),  that  amongst  other 
8 


86 


THE  DIARY  OF 


heretics,  Cathari,  Pauliciens,  Vaudois,  and  Pic- 
ards, whom  they  burnt  at  Cologne,  a few  years 
since,  was  one  of  a lofty  and  commanding  pres- 
ence,  said  to  be  a Spanish  nobleman — that  he 
touched  the  people  so  by  his  calm  and  heavenly 
words,  that  many  wept;  and  then  he  prayed 
them  not  to  weep  for  him,  for  he  was  only  going 
home  by  a rough  way,  but  for  themselves,  that 
Jesus  might  have  pity  on  them,  and  forgive 
them  their  sins.  It  might  have  been  him.  It 
may  be  only  Nannerl’s  fancy.  It  was  certainly 
like  him.  However  it  be,  God  rest  his  soul ! 
and  yet,  why  do  I pray  thus  ? Surely,  if  he  died 
so,  he  must  have  been  at  rest  these  many  years. 
Yet  the  decrees  of  the  Holy  Catholic  and  Apos- 
tolic Church,  and  the  Vicar  of  Christ  on  earth  ! 
God  help  me ! I am  a poor  old  man,  and  my 
brain  is  sorely  confused  at  times.  Many  of  the 
monks  point  pityingly  at  me,  as  at  one  half- 
crazed  ; but  I am  not  that — only  tried,  and  very 
tired. 

Also,  the  new  Abbot  is  a jovial  man,  who 
lovetli  hunting,  and  wine,  and  pleasure,  so  that 
the  convent  echoeth  oftener  with  the  voice  of 
mirth  than  with  that  of  prayer;  and  for  such 
things  my  old  ears  are  out  of  tune. 

My  flesh  faileth — my  heart  faileth ; I am 
very  lonely  and  desolate ; I seem  to  be  as  a 
wrecked  vessel,  rotting,  useless,  on  the  shore. 
And  yet,  at  times,  I have  gleams  of  a better 
hope.  Have  I not  clung  to  the  cross  of  my 


BROTHER  BARTHOLOMEW. 


87 


Lord  ? and  is  He  not  living — and  His  promise 
very  sure  ? 

O blessed  Lord  Jesus,  I am  a weary  old  man, 
sorely  tired  with  this  burden  of  life ; wilt  Thou 
not  soon  say,  “ Come  to  Me  ? n for  Thou  knowest 
I need  rest. 


SKETCHES 


OP  THE 

UNITED  BRETHREN  OF  BOHEMIA 
AND  MORAVIA. 


SKETCHES  OF  THE 


UNITED  BRETHREN  OF  BOHEMIA  AND 
MORAVIA. 


PART  I. 

THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY. 


I. 

John  Huss  had  been  dead  for  eight  years;  and 
during  the  greater  part  of  that  time  Bohemia 
had  been  blazing  with  the  fire  kindled  at  his  stake. 
The  words  he  had  spoken  under  the  roof  had  in- 
deed, as  he  foretold,  been  pealed  forth  from  the 
house-top,  though  not  in  the  sense  or  with  the 
effect  he  could  have  wished. 

The  eternal  truths  he  taught  had  doubtless 
been  working  their  way,  like  most  heavenly 
agencies,  in  silence,  purifying  the  hearts  which 
received  them,  to  see  further  than  their  teacher ; 
but  of  these,  historians  have,  in  general,  spoken 


92  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

only  parenthetically,  like  indiscriminating  alms- 
givers,  bestowing  the  largest  share  of  their  at- 
tention on  the  most  clamorous.  Of  the  true  suc- 
cessors of  Huss,  preacher  of  the  gospel  in  Beth- 
lehem Chapel,  we  know  very  little ; whilst  of 
Ziska  and  his  Taborites — their  intrepidity  and 
ferocity,  their  victories  and  slaughters,  their  vio- 
lent dissolution  of  five  hundred  convents,  and 
their  torturing  a poor  priest  to  death  for  denying 
transubstantiation — we  hear  far  more  than  we 
could  wish. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  1423,  the  Hussite 
army  was  encamped  before  Prague,  to  chastise 
an  attempt  of  the  citizens  to  elect  a king. 

“Twice,”  said  Ziska,  “have  I saved  Prague 
from  the  Emperor — now  I come  to  destroy  it !” 

At  first  the  soldiers  murmured.  The  old  royal 
city,  enthroned  on  its  twin  hills,  the  crown  of 
Bohemian  nationality,  the  shrine  of  Calixtine 
faith,  had  a sacredness  in  their  eyes.  Was  it  not 
the  holy  city  of  Huss  ? Had  not  they  themselves 
defended  it  with  their  life-blood  ? 

But  loyalty  to  the  blind  old  chief  who  had  led 
them  through  so  many  perils  to  so  many  vic- 
tories, whose  blindness  had  on  them  the  double 
claim  of  suffering,  and  the  transcendent  energy 
which  vanquished  it — the  habit  of  obedience, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  personal  devotion  to  their 
general,  overcame  the  spell  of  association ; they 
invested  Prague,  and  prepared  for  the  assault. 

For  a brief  space,  the  then  contending  parties 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


93 


— Calixtines,  Taborites,  and  Roman  Catholics — 
whose  strife  had  been  deluging  the  city  with 
blood,  were  frightened  into  agreement  by  the 
presence  of  one  stronger  than  they. 

The  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  a peaceful 
procession  issued  slowly  from  them. 

At  its  head  was  John  Rockyzan,  the  cathedral" 
preacher,  and  virtual  leader  of  the  Calixtine  or 
“Moderate”  party. 

He  came  to  intercede  for  Prague.  He  pleaded 
the  services  Ziska  himself  had  rendered  her,  and 
the  love  he  had  borne  her.  His  eloquent  voice 
on  Ziska’s  heart  prevailed.  The  city  was  spared ; 
and,  as  in  the  days  of  the  old  Hebrew  combat- 
ants, whose  wars  the  Hussites  imagined  them- 
selves commissioned  to  imitate,  a pile  of  stones 
was  reared  on  the  camp,  as  a memorial  of  the 
covenant ; whoever  first  broke  the  covenant  be- 
ing doomed  to  be  crushed  beneath  the  memorial. 
But  the  election  of  a king  was  prudently  waived, 
and  Ziska,  with  his  troops,  made  a triumphant 
entry  into  Prague. 


94  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


II. 


Another  thirty  years  had  elasped.  Ziska,  Ins 
successor  Prosopius,  the  scourge  of  Saxony,  and 
their  army  of  Taborites,  had  passed  out  of  hear- 
ing. That  mighty  creation  of  human  will  and 
force  had  been  crushed  and  utterly  dissolved;  but 
the  truth,  and  the  hearts  it  had  regenerated,  re- 
mained, stronger  than  all  storms.  All  that  was 
combustible  had  blazed  and  been  consumed; 
what  was  not  combustible  “burned,  and  was 
consumed  not” — the  starlight  outliving  the  fire- 
works, to  glorify  God  by  its  quiet  shining. 

From  the  ruins  of  the  armies  of  Tabor  had 
arisen  the  Church  of  the  United  Brethren. 

One  winter’s  day,  in  the  year  1456,  two  foot- 
travelers  were  ascending  one  of  the  lower  hills 
of  the  northern  mountain-range  of  Bohemia. 
They  walked  fast,  for  the  air  was  buoyant  and 
frosty,  and  they  were  conversing  eagerly ; their 
steps  keeping  pace  with  their  words.  Both  were 
clad  in  the  clerical  garb;  one  in  the  monastic 
habit,  the  other  in  that  of  a secular  priest.  They 
were  uncle  and  nephew  ; anct  there  was  in  them 
that  mixture  of  resemblance  and  contrast  which 
so  often  causes  us  to  make  involuntary  com- 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MOEAVIA. 


95 


p aria  on  s between  members  of  the  same  family. 
Neither  was  young,  and  there  Was  little  apparent 
difference  in  their  ages.  Both  were  genuine  Scla- 
vonians ; both  were  tall  and  dark,  with  muscular 
limbs,  and  the  firm  tread  of  mountaineers ; both 
had  straight  features  and  broad,  massive  fore- 
heads. But  in  the  expression,  in  all  which 
thought  and  life  stamp  upon  the  features,  there 
was  a stricldng  contrast.  On  the  brow  of  the 
monk  time  had  ploughed  long  furrows,  but  from 
beneath,  the  large  eyes  looked  forth  serene  and 
trustful  as  those  of  a thoughtful  child ; but  from 
amidst  the  countless  petty  and  anxious  lines 
which  wrinkled  the  face  of  the  priest,  gleamed  a 
pair  of  eyes  restless  and  distrustful  as  those  of 
some  small  animal  perpetually  on  the  watch 
against  attacks  it  had  no  strength  to  resist.  The 
soul  of  the  one  was  as  a harvestfield  on  which 
time  had  drawn  broad  furrows,  the  depositories 
of  precious  seed ; whilst  that  of  the  other  was  as 
a highway  cut  up  and  kept  barren  by  the  daily 
trampling  of  a thousand  cares. 

The  uncle  was  John  Rockyzan,  he  whose  elo- 
quent intercession  had  saved  Prague  thirty  years 
before,  now  acknowledged  chief  of  the  Calix- 
tines,  and  Archbishop  of  Prague,  by  the  choice 
of  the  States,  though  unconfirmed  by  the  Pope. 
The  nephew  was  Gregory,  of  the  Abbey  of  Ra- 
serherz,  leader  and  provisional  Elder  of  the 
United  Brethren  of  Bohemia : although,  had  you 
addressed  him  by  that  title,  he  would  probably 


96  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

not  have  recognized  himself ; for  if  he  led  the 
infant  Church,  it  was  by  no  official  staff,  but 
simply  because  he  pointed  out  to  her  the  straight 
path,  and  she  desired  to  walk  in  it. 

“The  Brethren  are  unreasonable  with  me,” 
said  Rockyzan,  impatiently,  in  answer  to  a re- 
mark of  Gregory's.  “ I am,  after  all,  their  best 
friend ; but  because  I w^ork  by  a slow  and  safe 
process  to  effect  their  object,  like  impatient  chil- 
dren, they  are  always  fretting  and  teasing  me. 
Has  any  man  denounced  more  boldly  than  I have 
the  corruptions  of  the  Roman  Church  ? Have  I 
not  declared  her  to  be  the  Western  Babylon,  and 
the  Pope  the  enemy  who  sowed  the  tares  among 
the  wheat?  Have  I not  said  publicly,  in  the 
hearing  of  priests  and  courtiers,  that  we  Calix- 
tines  do  not  go  far  enough,  cleansing  only  the 
outside  of  the  cup  ? And  even  in  that  for  which 
you  most  bitterly  reproach  me,  the  compact 
which  I negotiated  between  the  Calixtines  and 
Rome,  have  I not  most  effectually  served  your 
cause  ? — for  has  not  the  civil  war  which  ensued, 
disastrous  as  it  was,  been  the  means  of  sifting 
from  amongst  you  the  turbulent  men  who  would 
have  renewed  the  barbarities  of  Ziska,  of  the 
chalice,  and  the  Taborites,  and  thus  left  you,  in 
the  midst  of  defeat,  really  strengthened,  because 
purified  ?” 

“ It  is  true,”  replied  Gregory,  gently ; “ the 
hand  of  the  great  Husbandman  has  turned  the 
sword  into  a pruninghook.” 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MOEAVIA. 


97 


44  And  who,”  pursued  Rockyzan,  u has  toiled 
more  than  I for  the  triumph  of  the  gospel?  When 
I found  that  the  Pope  was  only  trifling  with  us  in 
his  pretended  compact,  refusing  to  confirm  me  in 
she  arch-episcopate,  did  I not  labor,  and  scheme, 
and  negotiate  for  years,  to  re-knit  the  old  ties 
which  once  bound  our  Bohemian  Church  to  that 
of  the  Greek  empire  ? And  I should  have  suc- 
ceeded, if  the  Turks  had  not  taken  Constanti- 
nople whilst  the  negotiations  were  pending; — 
was  that  the  fault  of  my  double-mindedness,  as 
they  call  it  ?” 

44  It  was  proof  that  our  strength  lies  elsewhere 
than  in  political  machinations,”  remarked  Gre- 
gory. 44  You  have  indeed  schemed  and  toiled 
enough : all  that  I desire  for  you  now  is,  that  you 
should  cast  from  you  all  those  subtle  webs  of  po- 
licy, and  go  forth  in  the  strength  of  dependent 
loyalty.” 

44  It  is  well,”  resumed  Rockyzan,  44  for  men  like 
you  to  speak  thus ; your  path  is  straight,  and  you 
may  thank  God  for  it.  You  have  none  but  your- 
selves to  consider;  I have  all  Bohemia  in  my 
heart.  The  peasant  may  go  to  his  work  singing 
nder  his  load,  but  he  who  is  gifted  with  the 
power,  or  set  in  the  place  of  the  ruler,  must  not 
shrink  from  burdens  though  he  sink  beneath 
them.” 

u My  kinsmen,”  interposed  Gregory,  44  you  mis- 
take your  calling.  Christ  rules  His  Church,  not 
you;  you  are  the  minister,  not  the  master;  as 
9 


98  SKETCHES  OP  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

servants,  we  have  ho  course  but  to  do  His  bid- 
ding, leaving  the  responsibility  and  the  result 
with  Him.  We  do  not  uphold  the  truth  ; it  up- 
holds us.” 

Rockyzan  was  silent  for  a few  moments  before 
he  rejoined : — 

“Had  I done  as  you  say,  declared  rnysell 
openly  one  of  you,  what  voice  would  have  filled 
the  cathedral  of  Prague  with  gospels  and  denun- 
ciations? Who  would  have  fed  the  deserted 
flock  ? Who  would  have  pleaded  for  you  with 
our  noble  sovereign,  George  Podiebrad,  and  ob- 
tained the  district  of  Litiz  as  a Goshen  for  you, 
as  I have  done  ?” 

“ Is  not  the  living  God  on  our  side?”  said  Gre- 
gory. “ If  He  is  not , let  our  cause  perish  ; if  He 
iSj  who  can  hinder  it  ?” 

“ You  are  so  one-sided  with  your  solitary 
monastic  habits,”  replied  Rockyzan ; “ St.  Paul 
was  not  above  that  tact  and  management,  that 
politic  accommodation,  which  you  abhor ; was 
he  not  all  things  to  all  men,  if  by  any  means  he 
might  gain  some  ? I would  gain  all  Bohemia  for 
the  gospel.” 

“ That  was  precisely  what  St.  Paul  gained  by 
his  distinct  and  decided  position,”  Gregory 
quietly  remarked ; “ those  who  do  not  compro- 
mise  can  afford  to  conciliate.” 

“But  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?”  demanded 
Rockyzan,  impatiently,  after  a few  moments’  he- 
sitation. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


99 


“ What  your  conscience  dictates,”  said  Gre- 
gory, looking  steadily  in  his  Dice  ; then  laying  his 
hand  on  Rockyzan’s  arm,  he  continued,  with 
appealing  earnestness — “ John  Rockyzan,  w^e 
know  one  another  well;  you  have  power,  but 
you  have  not  peace ; I want  you  to  sacrifice 
much,  that  you  may  gain  all.  You  see  before 
you  honor,  power,  the  favor  of  your  king — a po- 
sition from  which  you  might  rule  your  country ; 
but  they  lie  one  step  out  of  your  path.  You  in- 
tend to  turn  aside  to  gather  them,  and  then  to 
return  and  use  them  for  your  Master.  You  are 
mistaken.  Talents  gained  in  disobedience  to 
Him  can  hardly  be  used  in  obedience ; there  is  a 
tendency  in  motion  in  any  direction  to  perpetuate 
itself ; you  will  either  toil  on  with  your  burden 
of  earth  until,  weary  and  dispirited,  you  are  com- 
pelled to  cast  it  from  you,  and  return,  after  the 
loss  of  precious  years,  to  the  point  from  which 
you  started;  or  you  will  not  return;  you  will 
never  return ; you  will  labor  with  your  restless 
heart  and  your  burden  of  cares,  and  the  end  of 
all  your  travail  will  be  to  be  lost . O my  kins- 
man, bear  with  me,  and  listen  to  my  words : you 
are  come  to  a cross-road  in  your  life ; you  know 
the  way  ; walk  in  it.  4 If  any  man  serve  me,  let 
him  follow  me.’  There  is  no  serving  Christ  but 
in  following  Him  with  a single  heart.” 

Again  Rockyzan  asked,  44  What  would  you 
have  me  do  ?” 

44 Ask  your  God  that  question.”  replied  Gre- 


100  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

gory,  with  increasing  earnestness.  “He  will 
show  you — not,  indeed,  the  whole  scheme  of  your 
life — but  the  next  step  ; if  any  man  will  do  His 
will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine.  I can  onl) 
tell  you  what  I will  do.  We  believe  that  the 
system  of  the  Church  of  Rome  keeps  men  afar  off 
from  God,  instead  of  bringing  them  nigh  to  Him ; 
tossing  the  hearts  of  the  faithful  with  doubts,  and 
lulling  the  consciences  of  the  careless  with  dreams. 
We  believe  that  she  has  hidden  the  cross  on 
which  our  sins  were  blotted  out,  and  closed  the 
sepulchre  which  our  risen  Lord  opened  for  us,  by 
the  dead  doctrines  and  hollow  ceremonies  which 
she  has  built  over  them;  her  refusal  of  the  sacra- 
mental cup  to  the  laity  being  but  a type  of  the 
cup  of  salvation  which  she  withholds  from  them. 
With  her  false  doctrines  and  ceremonies  we  have 
nothing  to  do ; but  the  cross,  the  riven  tomb,  and 
the  tree  cup  of  life,  are  our  all.  She  conceals  and 
withholds  them,  but  God  has  revealed  and  freely 
given  them  to  us ; therefore  we  must  offer  them 
freely  to  one  another.  This  is  the  sole  object  of 
our  little  community  at  Litiz.  For  some  time,  as 
you  know,  we  have  accepted  teachers  from  the 
Calixtines ; but,  in  spite  of  our  earnest  remon- 
strances, they  send  us  men  who  only  pull  down 
what  we  seek  to  build  up.  We  have,  therefore, 
no  resource  but  to  recognize  those  amongst  us 
. whom  God  has  endowed  with  gifts  of  governing 
and  teaching,  and  to  trust  Him  for  the  result. 
Our  high  priest,  our  master,  our  bishop,  our  chief 


OP  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


101 


pastor,  is  none  else  than  the  living  Son  of  God ; 
our  canons,  His  Word  ; our  guide  and  counselor, 
the  Eternal  Spirit,  whom  He  has  sent  forth  to 
abide  in  His  Church,  and  build  it  up.  Our  prayer 
for  our  Church  is,  that  if  she  ceases  to  minister  to 
the  world  as  a living  body,  she  may  never  pollute 
it  as  a corpse;  that  if  she  ceases  to  live , she  may 
cease  to  be.  We  are'now  about  to  enter  on  the 
serious  work  of  seeking  and  appointing  our 
pastors  ; if  you  like  to  join  us,  you  can.” 

All  this  while  they  had  been  toiling  up  steep 
after  steep,  until  at  length  they  reached  the  height 
of  the  Donnersberg,  the  highest  of  the  group  of 
volcanic  mountains,  which  they  say  once  arose  as 
islands  out  of  the  lake  of  Bohemia,  and  through 
which  the  Elbe  has  cut  itself  a stormy  passage. 

Around  them  lay  mountains,  upheaved,  wave 
on  wave,  by  the  tossings  of  a fiery  sea,  girding 
in  their  fatherland  on  all  sides,  and  guarding  it, 
the  fruit  of  such  convulsions  now  reposing  in 
calm  strength  beneath  the  heavens.  Snow  covered 
the  heights,  glowing  in  the  warm  light  of  the  low 
sun.  Over  the  sunny  upland  pastures  the  white 
frost  was  steaming  up  in  soft  transparent  clouds ; 
from  the  dim  white  fog  below  arose  hills  of  dark 
pine  woods,  and  red  masses  of  leafless  oaks. 

Beyond  spread  the  broad  plain,  teeming  with 
life ; valleys  nestling  in  the  heart  of  the  lower 
hills ; spires  glittering  through  the  thin  mist ; 
rivers  linking  together  the  cities  with  silver  chains  : 
and.  over  all  floated  the  still,  clear  sunlight.  They 


102  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


paused  and  looked,  and  listened  to  the  silence. 
At  length  Rockyzan  exclaimed — 

u See  how  our  country  lies  before  us,  guarded 
by  her  mountain  walls  from  all  the  world  without, 
linked  together  within  by  life-giving  waters  ! My 
hand  shall  never  be  the  one  to  break  her  sacred 
unity ! Let  us  have  a Bohemian  Church,  or 
none !” 

But  Gregory  replied,  sadly — 

“ My  kinsman,  there  is  another  mountain,  from 
whose  holy  calm  God  looks  down  on  the  whole 
earth,  and  throughout  it  the  Father’s  eye  watches 
our  scattered  family,  unknown  to  men,  yet  the 
only  thing  amongst  men  on  which  the  heart  of 
God  can  rest.  Before  Him  that  scattered  family 
is  one ; the  living  stream  which  unites  them  is 
the  truth.  There  is  no  unity  in  God’s  sight,  no 
unity  which  will  stand  the  test  of  lire,  but  unity 
in  the  truth.  All  other  unions  are  mere  congeal- 
ings,  freezings  together,  of  heterogeneous  ele- 
ments, which  the  day  will  dissolve.  In  forming 
any  spiritual  confederation  on  any  but  God’s 
principle,  you  are  marring  God’s  unity,  uniting 
what  He  has  sundered,  and  sundering  what  He 
has  joined  together.  The  only  schism  in  His  sight 
is,  I believe,  to  make  anything  but  Jesus  the 
centre  and  the  bond  of  union — to  reject  those 
whom  He  receives,  and  to  receive  those  whom 
He  rejects.  From  this  may  He  preserve  us  !” 

But  Rockyzan’s  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  fair 
scene  before  him.  He  “ lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


103 


belield  all  the  plain,  that  it  was  well  watered 
everywhere,  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord,  as  the 
land  of  Egypt ; and  he  chose  him  all  the  plain.” 
He  also,  like  One  we  know,  was  taken  up  to  the 
top  of  a high  mountain,  and  shown  a kingdom 
and  its  glory.  But,  unlike  Him,  he  did  not  repel 
the  tempter  with  lowly  dependence  on  Divine 
words.  The  thousand  dewdrops  in  his  eyes 
outshone  the  one  sun,  and  he  said — 

“ I can  not  join  you  yet : Bohemia  needs  me. 
1 must  be  Archbishop  of  Prague,  and  from  my 
throne  on  the  mountains  in  the  centre  of  my 
country,  I will  send  forth  messengers  of  the  gospel 
to  every  corner  of  the  land  ; and  then,  when  all 
Bohemia  is  penetrated  with  the  truth,  as  one  man 
we  will  arise,  and  throw  off  the  yoke  of  Rome  ! 
The  eye  of  the  politician  sees  further  than  that  of 
common  men.  He  who  guides  men  must  move 
slowly.”  And  taking  a hurried  leave  of  Gregory, 
Rockyzan  went  back  to  Prague.  Gregory  visited 
his  brethren  among  the  mountains,  and  then 
returned  to  Litiz.  Their  paths  parted,  only 
crossing  once  afterwards.  The  eye  of  the  politi- 
cian saw  far,  but  the  eye  of  the  Christian  saw 
further,  for  it  saw  through  the  clouds  to  the 
heavens.  Few  men  consciously  choose  the  service 
of  Mammon ; none  unconsciously  serve  God. 


104  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


III. 

Things  followed  the  course  foretold  of  the  dis- 
ciples in  the  last  conversation  our  Lord  held  with 
them  before  His  death.  In  the  world  the  little 
faithful  flock  of  Bohemian  Brethren  had  tribula- 
tion ; but  in  Him  they  had  peace. 

The  little  church  at  Litiz  grew  in  stature  and 
in  numbers,  and  many  similar  bodies  sprang  up 
in  different  parts  of  Bohemia — quiet,  peaceable 
communities,  whose  sole  bond  was  union  with 
their  Saviour,  whose  sole  object  was  to  minister 
to  all  men  for  His  sake.  Why,  then,  did  all  men 
speak  evil  of  them,  and  all  parties  unite  in 
persecuting  them?  We  only  know  that  they  did 
so,  and  men  had  done  the  same  before  to  Him  in 
whom  no  fault  could  be  found. 

Rockyzan  retained  his  power  and  place,  and 
his  influence  with  the  King  of  Bohemia  increased. 
For  some  time  he  used  this  influence  cautiously, 
but  constantly,  in  favor  of  the,  truth  and  its 
calumniated  confessors.  But  at  length  the  United 
Brethren  were  summoned  before  the  Consistory 
at  Prague. 

The  moment  came  when  Rockyzan  could  no 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


105 


longer  unite  the  two  services.  The  choice  which 
had  been  so  long  unconsciously  made  had  now  to 
be  decisively  acted  on.  It  was  no  longer  prudent 
or  safe  for  him  to  assist  the  Brethren ; he  there- 
fore abandoned  them.  To  excuse  his  own  vacilla- 
tion, he  accused  them  of  precipitation  and  tur- 
bulence ; to  prove  his  sincerity,  he  persecuted 
them.  The  king,  it  is  said,  wavered.  The  earlier 
teaching  of  Rockyzan  himself,  the  convictions  of 
his  own  conscience,  the  blameless  lives  of  those 
he  was  called  upon  to  attack,  weighed  heavily 
upon  him.  But  Rockyzan  was  at  his  sovereign’s 
elbow,  to  remind  him  of  his  coronation  oath  to 
extirpate  heresy  ; to  urge  him  to  save  himself, 
the  more  “ moderate,”  and  the  “ truth,”  by  sac- 
rificing the  “ extreme  party.”  None  can  tempt 
like  the  fallen,  and  George  Podiebrad  yielded. 

Thus  Rockyzan  began  with  waiving  his  con 
victions,  in  order  to  gain  influence  to  promote 
them.  He  ended  in  turning  the  influence  thus 
gained  against  the  cause  for  which  he  had  per- 
suaded himself  he  sought  it.  The  process  in  his 
mind  was  perfectly  natural.  The  first  act  of  un- 
belief, by  which  he  virtually  said,  “I  will  uphold 
God’s  truth  by  disobeying  Him,”  led  logically  to 
all  the  rest.  The  same  question  is  being  daily 
proposed,  in  divers  manners,  to  some  amongst  us 
now.  How  are  we  answering  it  ? Love  is  our 
surest  logic.  Whom  are  we  loving  best  ? 

The  Church  of  Bohemia  was  called  to  pass 
through  one  of  those  periods  which  will  fill 


106  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

eternity  with  deathless  memories,  echoing  in 
“ songs  of  deliverance,”  and  in  wailings  of  un- 
purifying  remorse. 

In  the  depth  of  winter  the  sick  were  dragged 
from  their  homes,  and  cast  out  into  the  fields  to 
die.  Some  were  seized,  and  sent  back  to  their 
friends  without  hands  or  feet,  maimed  and 
wounded,  as  living  tokens  of  the  fate  which 
awaited  those  who  persevered.  Some  were 
tortured,  and  sent  to  heaven  with  strange  tidings 
of  the  welcome  which  those  whom  the  Son  of 
God  is  not  ashamed  to  call  “ brethren”  met  with 
on  earth,  dragged  to  death,  burnt  alive,  even 
little  children  burnt  at  the  stake.  And  the  Breth- 
ren of  Bohemia  endured  the  fiery  trial,  and  multi- 
plied. They  met  together  as  usual  to  read  the 
Word  of  their  God;  (how  living  and  significant 
was  every  page  read  by  the  firelight  of  persecu- 
tion !)  to  pray,  as  those  pray  who  have  no  de- 
fender but  God ; and  to  show  forth  their  Lord’s 
death,  as  those  do  who  have  no  hope  but  His 
coming  again. 

One  evening,  a body  of  them  had  assembled  in 
a private  house  in  Prague,  to  pray,  and  to  cele- 
brate the  communion  of  the  body  of  Christ. 
f Amongst  them  was  a venerable  man,  whom  they 
revered  as  a patriarch.  His  hair  had  grown  gray, 
his  manly  form  had  acquired  a slight  stoop,  and 
the  voice  which  pronounced  the  fatherly  benedic- 
tion was  the  tremulous  voice  of  an  old 
man;  but  his  eyes  were  still  bright  with 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


107 


an  expression  of  childlike  trust  and  love.  It 
was  Gregory  of  Raserherz. 

They  were  preparing  for  the  distribution  of 
the  sacred  elements,  when  an  interruption  was 
caused  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a messenger, 
who  whispered  something  to  Gregory,  and  then 
as  suddenly  disappeared. 

When  he  had  left,  Gregory  calmly  addressed 
the  congregation.  The  messenger,  he  said,  was 
sent  from  one  of  the  judges,  who  was  a secret 
friend  of  theirs,  to  entreat  them  to  disperse 
instantly,  or  he  himself  would  be  compelled  to 
come  within  a short  space  of  time  to  arrest  them. 
Gregory  expressed  his  own  conviction  that  they 
should  best  fulfill  the  wish  of  Him  who  had  said, 
“ Let  these  go  their  way,”  by  accepting  the 
friendly  warning,  and  quietly  dispersing. 

But  there  were  amongst  the  assembly  many 
enthusiastic  young  men,  students  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Prague,  who  had  embraced  the  oppressed 
cause  with  all  the  chivalrous  ardor  of  youth — 
men  who,  like  St.  Peter,  had  not  counted  the  cost, 
and  therefore  deemed  their  resources  of  endurance 
and  fidelity  inexhaustible — and  many  of  these 
murmured  openly  against  Gregory’s  counsel, 
declaring  that  they  were  ready  to  die  for  the 
truth,  but  would  never  consent  to  such  a denial 
of  it  as  this  cowardly  flight. 

To  their  untempered  zeal,  stakes,  racks,  and 
scaffolds  were  as  “ trifles.”  Gregory  knew  they 
were  not  trifles;  but  the  assembly  was  partly 


108  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

borne  away,  and  partly  silenced,  by  their  en- 
thusiasm, and  he  resolved  to  cast  in  his  lot  with 
them. 

Whilst  they  were  proceeding  to  the  celebration 
of  the  communion,  the  door  opened,  and  the  judge 
appeared,  followed  by  a band  of  armed  men. 

The  assembly  was  mute,  until  the  voice  of  the 
judge  broke  the  silence  with  the  remarkable 
words — “It  is  written  that  they  who  will  live 
godly  in  Christ  J esus  shall  suffer  persecution.” 
Then,  with  a strange  inconsistency,*  suffering 
himself  to  become  the  instrument  of  a cruelty 
which  he  abhorred,  against  men  whom  he  revered 
and  had  sought  to  rescue,  he  added — 

“ Follow  me  to  prison.” 

And  giving  the  word  to  his  followers,  the 
leaders  of  the  assembly  were  forthwith  bound 
and  led  away. 

It  is  said,  that  of  those  who  had  so  confidently 
invited  persecution,  not  one  had  the  courage  to 
endure  it. 


* * * * ❖ 

An  assembly  of  priests  and  magistrates,  minis- 
ters of  Christianity  and  of  justice,  were  gathered 
in  a room  in  the  city  of  Prague,  to  try  whether 

* This  is  not  the  only  example  of  such  conscious  inconsistency 
during  this  struggle.  Lupacius,  a friend  of  Rockyzan’s,  after  desert- 
ing the  United  Brethren,  wrote  them  a letter  full  of  earnest  exhorta- 
tions to  persevere  in  their  course,  and  wise  advice  as  to  the  best 
method  of  doing  so. 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MORAVIA. 


109 


by  laying  an  old  man  on  the  rack  they  could 
induce  him  to  renounce  the  convictions  of  his 
whole  life,  and  betray  his  fellow-believers. 

Gregory  of  Kaserherz  and  John  Rockyzan 
met  once  more ; the  nephew  on  the  rack,  the 
uncle  watching  to  see  whether  torture  would 
do  for  Gregory  what  prosperity  had  done  for 
him. 

Rut  the  high  and  holy  One  who  inhabiteth 
eternity  dwelt  with  that  gentle  and  lowly  spirit; 
and  the  sorer  his  enemies  pressed  upon  him,  only 
so  much  the  closer  did  they  drive  him  into  the 
sanctuary  of  that  Blessed  Presence. 

They  could, not  succeed  in  wringing  from  Gre- 
gory one  murmur  or  one  word  of  recantation ; 
but  they  did  succeed  in  subduing  his  enfeebled 
frame  with  the  extremity  of  pain. 

He  feinted,  and  lay  for  some  time  uuconeious. 

But  He  who  spoke  of  old  to  His  people  in 
visions  came  near  to  Gregory  in  the  cloud. 

As  he  lay  there,  insensible  to  all  around,  he 
saw,  as  in  a trance,  a tree  spreading  its  roots 
over  the  earth,  and  its  branches  to  the  heavens. 
It  was  covered  with  delicious  fruit,  and  the  birds 
found  shelter  under  its  branches,  and  ate  of  its 
fruit — filling  the  air  with  their  sweet  and  happy 
songs.  Three  men  guarded  this  tree. 

The  dream  was  significant,  and  time  interpreted 
it. 

The  torturers  believed  their  work  was  done — 
they  thought  him  dead ; and  for  a moment 

10 


110  SKETCHES  OF  yTHE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

Rockyzan’s  conscience  awoke,  and  in  an  agony  he 
exclaimed — 

“ O my  poor  Gregory ! — would  to  God  I were 
where  thou  art ! ” 

But  the  old  man  recovered,  and  after  procuring 
his  release,  Rockyzan,in  spite  of  a solemn  remon- 
strance from  the  Brethren,  relapsed  into  his  old 
course  of  action. 

They  concluded  their  last  letter  to  him  with 
the  words,  “ Thou  art  of  the  world,  and  thou 
wilt  perish  with  the  world and  he  revenged 
himself  by  deliberately  exciting  a fresh  persecu- 
tion against  them. 

I only  know  of  two  subsequent  events  in  the 
lives  of  Gregory  and  Rockyzan  ; both  were  con- 
sistent. 

The  United  Brethren  wished  to  give  a more 
systematic  organization  to  their  community ; and 
true  to  their  faith  that  the  Lord  Jesus  had  not 
grown  weary  of  guarding  His  Church,  they  met 
together  in  His  presence,  to  seek  His  direction 
in  the  choice  of  their  pastors. 

Seventy  of  them  met  in  a house  in  the  town 
of  Lotha ; men  of  the  higher  and  lower  aristoc- 
racy, burghers  and  ministers  of  the  gospel. 

This  was  in  1467,  fifty-two  years  after  the 
burning  of  John  Huss  at  Constance,  and  fifty-two 
years  before  Luther’s  burning  of  the  Papal  bull 
at  Wittenberg. 

After  fasting,  and  reverently  addressing  God 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


Ill 


in  prayer,  and  listening  to  Him  through  His 
Word,  they  chose  twenty  men,  and  out  of  these 
nine  as  candidates  for  the  sacred  office.  Gregory 
of  Raserlierz,  hitherto  the  Provisional  Elder,  had 
been  the  most  earnest  in  counseling  a measure 
which  was  to  deprive  him  of  all  his  official 
authority;  and  he  now  offered  up  a solemn 
petition  that  God  would  choose  their  pastors  for 
them. 

Then,  like  the  primitive  disciples  in  the  choice 
of  a successor  to  the  fallen  apostle,  (unmindful, 
perhaps,  that  this  proceeding  took  place  before 
the  day  of  Pentecost,)  they  left  the  matter  to  the 
decision  of  the  lot.  The  billets  were  drawn 
from  an  urn  by  a little  child ; and  the  three  oil 
which  the  decisive  word  est  was  written,  fell  to 
the  lot  of  the  three  men  whom,  six  years  before, 
Gregory  had  seen  in  his  vision  on  the  rack 
guarding  the  fruitful  tree.* 

They  were  accepted  with  joy  and  gratitude, 
and  installed  into  their  office  with  a hymn  of 
thanksgiving.  They  subsequently  sought  and 
obtained  ordination  from  the  bishop  of  an  an- 
cient Vaudois  colony  in  Austria. 

This  was  the  first  definite  organization  of  the 
Church  of  the  United  Brethren  of  Bohemia  and 
Moravia.  Was  not  this  act  of  joyful  renunciation 
a beautiful  close  to  our  glimpses  of  such  a life  as 
Gregory’s  ? 

It  is  remarkable  that  these  Austrian  Vaudois, 

* V.  Bost’s  “Histoire  de  l’Eglise  des  Freres.” 


112  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

probably  descended  from  the  French  Christians 
dispersed  by  the  persecution  in  the  days  of  St. 
Bernard,  had  scarcely  thus  linked  themselves 
with  the  young  Church  of  Bohemia,  when  they 
themselves  were  crushed  and  scattered  by  an 
exterminating  persecution.  They  laid  their 
hands  on  the  heads  of  their  successors,  and 
blessed  them,  and  then  were  taken  to  their  rest. 

The  last  voice  that  brings  us  tidings  of  John 
Rockyzan  is  from  his  deathbed. 

He  died,  it  is  said,  without  hope. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


113 


PART  II. 

THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY. 


I. 


MAGDALEN. 

History  will  tell  you  what  kings  were  reigning, 
and  what  armies  were  fighting,  in  1619 — what 
subtle  webs  of  policy  were  being  spun  in  French 
and  Austrian  cabinets ; how  all  Germany  was 
quivering  with  excitement  at  the  clever  chess- 
playing of  the  Union  and  the  League,  and  the 
preparatory  agitations  of  the  Thirty  Years’  War, 
the  hero  around  whom  all  were  to  group,  the 
mighty  and  lowly  Gustavus  Adolphus,  not  having 
yet  appeared  ; she  can  also  tell  you  of  the  solemn 
and  joyous  confederation  which  had  taken  place 
not  long  before  between  Lutherans,  Reformed, 
and  Calixtines,  in  Bohemia,  in  which  even  the 
United  Brethren  were  included — thereby  gain- 
ing quite  a respectable  position  amongst  the 
Bohemian  national  institutions  ; — but  of  that  his- 
10* 


114  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN. 

tory  of  uholy  and  humble  men  of  heart/’  of 
spiritual  conflicts  and  eternal  victories,  which  is 
written  in  heaven,  she  can  tell  you  very  little. 

She  will  lead  you  through  the  steep,  narrow 
streets  of  Prague,  the  most  picturesque,  she 
says,  and  romantic  of  European  cities,  whose 
walls  and  towers  are  dented  with  the  sign-man- 
uals of  so  many  wars — and  she  will  show  you  the 
mountain  throne  where  the  royalty  of  Bohemia 
sat  for  centuries,  looking  over  her  broad  domain, 
the  Moldau  lying  as  a faithful  guardian  at  her 
feet,  ready  to  convey  her  behests  whither  she 
would ; she  will  point  out  to  you  church  after 
church,  sacred  with  the  relics  of  Bohemian  mar- 
tyrs— and  palace  after  palace,  gorgeous  with  the 
pomp  of  Bohemian  nobles ; she  may  even  guide 
you  to  the  portal  of  the  house  of  the  noble  fam- 
ily Yon  Loss,  whose  young  chief  has  been  one 
of  the  Directors  of  the  kingdom,  and  advocates 
of  the  United  Brethren  under  the  Emperor  Ru- 
dolph ; but  she  can  not  admit  you  within.  Never- 
theless, if  you  please,  we  will  enter. 

It  was  a grand  old  room,  high  and  long,  more  of 
a gallery  than  a hall;  in  the  deepening  twilight, 
with  its  lofty  Gothic  windows,  its  strongly-shad- 
owed pictures  looming  from  tapestried  walls — 
rich  paintings  of  Titian’s,  quaint,  hard,  symbolic, 
family  portraits  of  the  Middle  Ages — it  had 
something  of  the  mystic  light  of  a church ; yet 
it  was  apparently  the  ordinary  sitting-room  of 
the  family,  for  it  was  full  of  rich,  massive  fur- 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MOKAYIA. 


115 


niture.  A fire  blazed  on  the  hearth  at  one  end, 
to  keep  off  the  chill  of  an  evening  in  early  autumn ; 
and  near  it  sat  the  young  daughter  of  the  house, 
and  an  old  man  in  the  sober  dress  of  a Protestant 
minister. 

The  maiden  was  dressed  gracefully,  but  plainly ; 
you  would  scarcely  have  remarked  her  costume, 
had  she  been  introduced  into  your  drawing-room 
now,  but  for  the  rich  Vandyked  collar  which  has 
become  characteristic  of  the  century  of  the  great 
portrait-painter.  Nor  am  I sure  that  you  would 
have  remarked  her  face;  it  was  not  striking— 
its  beauty  lay  deeper:  had  she  been  the  only 
specimen  of  Bohemian  beauty  Titian  had  seen,  he 
might  probably  not  have  said  that  he  had  seen 
the  ideal  of  a female  head  at  Prague ; yet  its 
poise  on  the  long  throat  was  so  firm  and  grace- 
ful; the  brow,  as  it  lay  bared  by  the  throwing 
back  of  the  long  curls,  was  so  innocent  and  calm ; 
the  eyelids,  and  dark  lashes,  threw  such  a soft 
shade  on  the  cheek,  and  the  mouth  had  such  a 
happy  smile  on  it  as  she  sat  at  her  easel,  that 
Magdalen  Yon  Loss  was  certainly  one  of  those 
works  of  God  on  Avhich  we  may  still  look,  and 
say  thankfully,  “ It  is  very  good.” 

She  laid  down  her  brush  among  the  brillant 
colors  and  tinctures  which  she  had  been  using, 
and  bringing  her  work  to  the  old  man,  she  knelt 
before  him,  and  placing  the  painting  on  his 
knee,  playfully  covered  the  book  he  had  been 
reading. 


116  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

“Now,  father,”  she  said,  (he  was  not  her 
father,  he  was  a Moravian  pastor,  called  David 
Jablonsky,  hut  she  and  her  brother  had  acquired 
the  habit  of  calling  him  so  in  their  infancy,  hav- 
ing been  left  to  his  guardianship,  and  had  com 
tinned  it  since  from  reverence  to  his  pastoral 
office,  and  his  venerable  and  endearing  character,) 
“now  put  down  that  great  learned  book — it  is 
too  large  to  read  anywhere  but  in  a pulpit — and 
let  dear  old  John  Huss  enjoy  his  own  thoughts 
a little,  and  look  at  me.  I think  two  hundred 
and  four  years  is  long  enough  for  him  to  have 
been  talking  to  our  incomparable  Czeskan  nation : 
now  it  is  our  turn.” 

He  placed  a mark  in  the  book,  and  let  her  lay 
it  on  a table  beside  him ; then  taking  her  drawing 
to  the  window,  he  looked  at  it  for  some  minutes 
in  silence. 

It  was  from  a hymn-book  of  the  Brethren 
which  she  had  been  illuminating;  the  subject 
was  from  the  Te  Deum — 

“ The  noble  army  of  martyrs : praise  thee.” 

At  the  bottom  of  the  page  she  had  sketched  in 
solid  and  sombre  colors  the  martyrdom  of  Huss. 
Around  the  stake  were  gathered  soldiers  and 
priests,  some  with  countenances  breathing  out 
slaughter,  others  turning  away  their  heads  in 
compassion  ; in  the  distance  were  shadowed  forth 
the  forms  of  many  Bohemian  martyrs ; mothers 
weeping  over  the  innocent  faces  of  their  dead 
children,  widows  over  their  slair  husbands,  young 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


117 


girls  chafing  the  hands  of  old  men  perishing  of 
cold  in  the  snow-fields.  The  face  of  Huss  was 
turned  heavenwards,  illumined  as  if  by  some 
glorious  vision.  The  smoke  from  the  burning 
fagots  arose  in  blue  wreaths  around  the  text, 
parting  at  each  side  to  give  glimpses  of  two  me- 
dallions, and  at  the  top  melting  away  amidst 
sunset  clouds.  In  the  medallions,  in  shadowy 
purples  and  grays,  she  had  sketched  Huss’s  well- 
known  dream — on  once  side  priests  and  magis- 
trates laboriously  effacing  the  pictures  of  Jesus 
on  the  walls  of  his  chapel  of  Bethlehem — on  the 
other,  angels  restoring  them  in  fairer  colors. 
Above,  in  aerial  transparent  tints,  such  as  bathe 
the  clouds  at  sunset,  was  a meek,  exulting  band, 
bearing  palms,  and  casting  chaplets  of  victory  at 
the  feet  of  one  whose  form  was  half  shrouded  in 
light,  one  hand  only  coming  distinctly  out  from 
the  glory,  to  crown  the  martyr — and  that  hand 
was  pierced. 

“ I like  this,  Magda,”  the  old  man  said,  at 
length ; “ it  is  the  best  you  have  done.” 

Then  passing  to  her  drawing-table,  he  turned 
over  sheet  after  sheet  of  brilliant  illuminations — • 
historical  sketches,  portraits,  borders  of  arabesque, 
rich  branches  of  brown  and  golden  autumn  leaves, 
ferns  and  mosses,  and  delicate  garlands  of  spring 
flowers. 

“ My  child !”  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  hands  in 
his,  “ God  has  given  you  many  gifts — spend  them 
all  for  Him.” 


118  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

She  smiled : cc  This  is  my  myrrh  and  frankin- 
cense,” she  said,  “ which  I would  lay  at  the  feet 
of  Jesus.” 

She  knew  Him,  as  yet,  more  as  the  Divine 
child,  heralded  by  angels,  than  as  the  crucified 
Saviour,  rejected  of  men,  and  dying  for  them. 

Jablonsky  reseated  himself  in  the  arm-chair 
by  the  fire.  Magdalen  piled  the  logs  so  as  to 
make  a cheerful  blaze,  and  then  seated  herself  on 
a footstool  at  his  feet. 

“ Now,  father,”  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  on 
his  knees,  “ tell  me  of  our  forefathers.” 

A sunbeam  crept  in  through  the  deep  windows, 
danced  amongst  the  liquid  colors,  and  lit  up  her 
happy,  eager  face,  as  she  looked  up  and  listened 
eagerly  while  David  Jablonsky  went  over  the 
oft-told  but  unwearying  tale  of  the  martyrs  of 
Constance,  and  their  prophecies  of  better  times ; 
of  the  dove-like  messengers  sent  out  over  the 
earth  by  the  isolated  Church,  east,  and  west,  and 
south,  to  see  if  anywhere  they  could  meet  with 
their  kindred — who  returned,  finding  no  rest  for 
the  soles  of  their  feet ; of  the  fierce  wars  of  the 
blind  Ziska  and  his  Taborites,  their  valor  and 
their  defeat,  God  not  consecrating  such  weapons; 
of  the  noble  band  of  Christian  heroes  which 
arose  from  the  ruins  of  the  old  cause ; of  Rockv- 
zan  the  double-minded,  driven  with  many  winds 
and  tossed ; of  the  single-hearted  Rascrherz, 
resting  on  the  rock,  and  his  dream ; of  the  old 
Austrian  Vaudois,  casting  their  mantle  on  the 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


119 


young  ministers  of  Bohemia,  and  then  being 
borne  aloft  in  chariots  of  flame ; of  the  Jamnici, 
or  cavern-dwellers,  who  followed  Jesus  into  the 
desert,  hiding  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth, 
reading  His  Word  by  firelight,  stealing  out  at 
night  over  the  snow  in  search  of  food,  treading 
in  each  other's  footsteps,  the  last  brushing  out 
the  traces  of  the  rest ; of  one  who  was  offered  a 
year's  respite,  but  preferred  to  die  whilst  his 
heart  was  warm,  with  five  of  his  condemned 
brethren ; of  these  and  countless  others,  beloved 
of  God,  whom  the  world  rejected,  and  now  the 
heavens  receive  until  the  time  of  the  restitution 
of  all  things. 

The  history  of  the  Church  of  Bohemia  was  rich 
in  such  treasures ; some  of  the  sufferers  had  been 
amongst  Magdalen’s  own  ancestors;  she  had  been 
fed  with  such  stories  from  her  infancy,  yet  her 
eye  by  turns  moistened  and  kindled,  and  her 
cheek  glowed  as  she  listened.  The  history  was 
ever  fresh  to  her,  for  it  was  trice,  and  its  heroes 
were  those  ever-living  ones  whom  she  hoped  to 
meet,  and  whose  memories  she  delighted  to  gar- 
land with  her  fairest  offerings. 

“And  now,”  she  observed,  when  he  ceased, 
“ that  rough  season  of  ploughing  and  sowing  is 
over,  and  we  are  reaping  the  harvest.  If  John 
JIuss  could  see  us  now,  how  his  heart  would 
glow!  The  old  chapel  of  Bethlehem  restored  to 
us,  and  wise  men  and  princes  filling  it  with  their 
offerings  and  thanksgivings;  our  glorious  old 


120  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN" 

brethren’s  Church,  no  longer  despised,  but 
honored  of  all  men — admitted  into  the  Consis- 
tory with  Calixtines  and  Lutherans  ; all  Europe, 
they  say,  resounding  with  praises  of  our  disci- 
pline, all  Bohemia  filled  with  our  churches  and 
Bibles:  has  not  our  God  done  great  things  for 
us  ?” 

“We  have  certainly  sought  great  things  for 
ourselves,”  he  replied,  thoughtfully;  “I  have 
little  doubt  John  Huss  would  have  rejoiced  could 
he  have  foreseen  these  things ; but  I much  doubt 
if  he  would  rejoice  to  see  them  now.  They  have 
such  different  measurements  of  things  in  heaven 
from  ours  on  earth.” 

“ But  surely,”  she  said,  “ we  must  thank  God 
wThen  He  gives  us  rest  and  honor,  and  fills  our 
cup  with  blessings  ?” 

“We  must  eat  and  drink  and  give  thanks, 
Magda,  and  go  on  our  way ; food  is  given  us  to 
strengthen  us  for  action,  not  that  we  may  take 
our  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry.” 

“ But,”  she  said,  “ surely,  as  our  Father  loves 
us,  He  delights  to  see  us  happy  ? It  would  not 
please  Him,  when  He  has  spread  a feast  and 
furnished  a palace  for  us,  that  we  should  take 
lodgings  in  a hut  beside  it,  and  refuse  to  eat 
anything  but  black  bread,  because  the  palace  and 
its  fare  are  too  good  for  us.  Would  not  this  bo 
the  mistake  which  you  so  often  told  me  the  monks 
made?” 

“We  must  not  throw  away  God’s  gifts,  my 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MOlvAVIA. 


121 


child,”  said  Jablonsky ; u we  must  reverently 
gather  up  the  fragments,  and  use  them.  But  we 
are  stewards,  not  proprietors ; think  what  that 
means ; for  a steward  to  build  himself  a palace 
and  buy  himself  jewels  with  his  lord’s  money, 
would  be,  not  only  waste,  but  robbery — robbing 
both  the  master  and  the  servants.  The  monk 
mortifies  himself  that  he  may  live  to  God,  and  he 
fails ; but  God  quickens  us  that  we  may  die  to 
self.  The  ascetic  renounces  the  earth  that  he  may 
approach  God ; he  is  mistaken — God  is  nearer  us 
than  anything  we  can  offer  Him,  but  His  presence 
necessarily  extinguishes  our  brightest  glories,  as 
well  as  glorifies  our  meanest  services.  It  estranges 
us  from  the  world  far  more  effectually  to  be  sent 
into  it  (as  Christ  was,  and  all  His  are,)  from  the 
heavenly  places,  than  to  be  toiling  away  from 
earth  to  heaven.  The  sun  puts  out  our  torches 
as  well  as  the  storm,  but  it  extinguishes  them  in 
light.” 

“ But  are  we  not  free,  father  ?”  she  asked — 
“ free  both  as  ransomed  captives,  and  as  adopted 
children  ?” 

“ Faith  in  our  redemption  sets  us  free,  Mag- 
dalen,” he  replied ; “ love  to  the  Redeemer  makes 
us  servants  again.” 

“I  do  not  understand  you,”  she  said  impa- 
tiently ; “ do  you  mean  that  the  Emperor  Rudolph 
did  not  do  us  a service  when  he  granted  us  the 
Majestats-Briefe  ? * that  my  brother  and  the  nobles 

* Letter  of  grace. 

11 


122  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

are  not  right  in  spending  all  their  energies  to  se* 
cure  the  establishment  of  our  brethren  ? that  we 
may  not  rejoice  that  our  Church  is  honored  in- 
stead of  being  desjrised  ? and  that  we  may  wor- 
ship in  our  old  temples  instead  of  in  caves  and 
wildernesses  ?” 

“ Dear  child,”  said  the  old  man,  gently  taking 
her  hand,  “ we  shall  see.  The  glory  of  the 
Church  in  this  age  is  not  to  be  clothed  in  purple 
and  fine  linen,  but  to  be  bearing  the  cross  after 
her  Lord,  the  servant  of  all  men  for  His  sake. 
She  is  necessarily  a paradox  amongst  men ; her 
laws  are  totally  distinct  from  those  of  the  world, 
as  her  nature  is.  When  she  is  weak  she  is  strong, 
when  she  is  poor  she  is  rich,  when  she  is  despised 
she  is  glorified,  and  this  not  because  weakness 
and  poverty  and  reproach  are  in  themselves  good 
things,  but  because,  being  always  really  weak, 
she  is  then  only  truly  strong,  when  the  conscious- 
ness of  weakness  leads  her  to  abide  close  to  her 
Lord.” 

“ But,”  pursued  Magdalen,  rising  and  stirring 
the  firelogs,  then  going  to  her  easel  and  laying 
her  hand  on  her  beloved  drawings,  “ would  you 
have  me  renounce  these  happy,  beautiful  dreams, 
my  painting  and  books,  and  all  I delight  in,  and 
strip  my  soul  bare  to  tread  the  Dolorous  Way?” 

“I  would  have  you  renounce  nothing,  my 
child,”  replied  Jablonsky;  “what  will  be  the  end 
of  our  heaven-born  life  in  the  resurrection,  is  its 
tendency  now.  The  new  life  must  overwhelm 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


123 


and  rule  the  old;  we  must  be  clothed  upon,  not 
unclothed;  mortality  must  be  swallowed  up  of 
life.  I believe,  as  at  the  first  opening  of  our 
Christian  life,  so  ever  after,  God  would  have  us 
receive  before  we  renounce.  I do  not  mean  that 
you  may  not  have  to  renounce  much  that  is  dear 
to  you,  that  you  must  not  have  perpetually  to  re- 
sist the  evil  nature  which  abides  within  us  till 
death : you  may  be  called  upon  to  pluck  off  the 
right  hand  and  to  pluck  out  the  right  eye — but 
it  is  by  listening  to  His  voice,  and  learning  to 
know  it  well,  and  follow  it,  that  you  will  find 
strength  for  this.  Love  is  the  element  of  Chris- 
tian life,  and  self-sacrifice  is  on  earth  the  element 
of  love.  Simply  ask  Him  to  fill  your  heart  with 
His  love,  and  your  life  with  His  presence,  and 
then  all  that  is  displeasing  to  Him  will  be  ex- 
pelled from  both,  simply  because  there  is  no  room 
for  them.  You  need  not  pluck  off  the  dead 
leaves,  the  young  buds  will  gently  push  them  off 
when  the  spring  comes.” 

“ I need  not,  then,  seek  trial  ?”  she  said. 

“No,”  he  replied,  with  a smile,  “you  need 
only  seek  faithfulness.” 

There  was  a great  spring  against  the  door,  as 
of  the  forefeet  of  some  large  animal.  Magdalen 
ran  to  open  it,  and  was  nearly  thrown  down  by 
the  rough  embraces  of  old  Rudolph,  her  brother’s 
favorite  stag-hound.  “Down,  Rudolph,  down!” 
his  master  exclaimed ; and  kissing  his  sister,  he 
advanced  with  his  arm  round  her  into  the  room. 


124  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

He  ayes  many  years  older  than  Magdalen, 
though  still  young.  “ Magda ! Herr  Pastor  ! ” 
he  exclaimed,  shaking  Jablonsky’s  hand,  “ give 
me  joy ; I have  the  best  news  for  you  : we  have 
succeeded  at  length,  the  states  are  unanimous, 
we  have  cast  off  our  allegiance  to  the  traitor 
Ferdinand,  and  offered  the  crown  of  Bohemia  to 
Frederic  Count  Palatine  of  the  Rhine;  he  has 
accepted  it,  and  will  be  here  in  a few  weeks. 
Our  armies  are  united  with  those  of  Bethlen 
Gabor  from  Transylvania  and  Hungary  before 
Vienna ; Ferdinand  and  his  priests  are  trembling 
in  his  palace,  the  emperor  has  not  a firm  place  to 
set  his  foot  on  in  all  his  dominions.  Our  cause 
is  the  cause  of  heaven ; in  a few  months  our 
Bohemian  Church  shall  be  the  Queen  of  Prot- 
estant Germany.” 

“ And  our  Queen,  the  lady  Elizabeth  of  Eng- 
land ! ” exclaimed  Magdalen,  clapping  her  hands; 
“they  say  she  is  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful 
lady  in  Europe ! ” 

“We  shall  see  that,”  rejoined  her  brother, 
laughing,  “ when  our  little  Magdalen  stands  by 
her  side  bearing  her  coronation  robes.” 

Magdalen  colored,  and  Henry  Otho  took  up 
her  sketch  of  Huss’s  martyrdom  from  the  table. 

“ This  is  good,  Magda,”  he  said,  “ as  far  as  it 
goes,  but  we  will  have  another  class  of  confes- 
sors of  Christ  now  : men  with  strong  arms  and 
brave  hearts,  ready  to  do  and  dare  all  for  the 
right.  Why  have  you  left  old  Ziska  out  of  your 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


125 


army  of  martyrs  ? ” he  continued,  pausing  before 
a portrait  of  the  one-eyed  warrior,  and  gazing  on 
the  wild,  energetic  countenance,  the  deep  furrow 
down  the  brow — the  stamp,  they  say,  of  military 
genius — the  stern  features  lit  up  to  a fiercer  glow 
by  the  flickering  of  the  fire-light. 

Jablonsky  laid  his  hand  on  the  youngs  man’s 
shoulder  as  he  stood  thus,  and  said  earnestly — 

“ I know  you  will  deem  my  warning  the  mere 
querulous  timidity  of  an  old  man ; but  once  more, 
before  you  plunge  Bohemia  in  civil  war,  I entreat 
you  to  remember  to  what  Ziska's  victories  led. 
God  bears  with  the  world,  but  He  judges  His 
Church.  He  will  not  suffer  her  to  prosper  in 
disobedience  to  Him ; and  can  it  be  obedience 
to  resist  your  sovereign,  and  to  return  evil  for 
evil  ? ” 

“ Father,”  said  the  Count,  respectfully  but  im- 
patiently, “ the  die  is  cast,  we  must  now  await 
the  issue ; to  advance  may  have  been  rash,  to  re- 
treat is  impossible.” 

“It  is  never  impossible,”  the  old  man  replied, 
opening  the  door,  “to  refuse  to  do  wrong;”  and 
with  these  words  he  left  the  room. 

“Endurance  is  always  beautiful  in  women,” 
exclaimed  Henry  Otho,  pushing  the  fire-logs  to- 
gether with  his  foot,  “ but  only  the  last  resource 
for  men.  Besides,  we  are  not  fighting  for  our 
religion,  we  are  simply  preventing  the  emperor 
from  committing  a thousand  crimes.  It  may 
not  be  lawful  to  avenge  ourselves ; but  what  law 
11* 


126  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

can  withhold  us  from  binding  the  arms  of  a mad- 
man ?” 

The  brother  and  sister  sat  up  until  late,  dwell- 
ing on  the  glorious  future  which  lay  before 
Bohemia  and  the  truth. 

Jablonsky  also  watched  until  a late  hour  that 
night,  alone,  with  his  Saviour,  entreating  with 
tears  and  agony  of  heart  that,  if  possible,  the 
cup  of  retribution  might  this  time  pass  from  his 
people,  that  the  disciples  who  took  the  sword 
might  this  once  not  perish  with  the  sword. 

“ They  are  blind/’  he  pleaded,  “ but  they  mean 
to  serve  Thee.  Oh,  forgive  the  error,  and  re- 
ward the  intention ! or,  if  we  must  suffer,  may 
our  sorrows  teach  us  and  glorify  Thee ! and 
sarry  Thou  Thy  lambs  in  Thy  bosom ! n 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


127 


n. 

THE  CORONATION. 

Aj,l  Prague  was  full  of  music  and  splendor. 

Pastor  Jablonsky  sat  in  his  study,  thinking  of 
his  Sunday’s  sermon  which  he  was  to  preach  in 
Huss’s  old  chapel  of  Bethlehem,  when  Henry 
Otlio  entered  the  room,  leading  his  sister  in  her 
court  dress. 

A robe  of  blue  velvet  with  ermine  borders 
fitted  tightly  around  her  form  and  fell  in  dark 
massive  folds  from  a girdle  clasped  with  pearls. 
Her  only  ornament  was  her  coronet,  from  which 
her  brown  hair  fell  in  rich  clusters. 

“ Magda  is  frightened  at  the  idea  of  encoun- 
tering all  the  strange  eyes,  Herr  Pastor,”  said 
her  brother,  “ you  must  reassure  her.” 

“It  is  a solemn  thing,  is  it  not,  father,”  said 
Magdalen,  “the  crowning  and  anointing  of  our 
king  and  queen  before  God  ? ” And,  kneeling 
before  him,  she  added,  “Give  me  your  blessing.” 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  head,  and  blessed  her, 
and  she  went  out  with  a glad  heart. 

The  old  man's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  time 


128  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BEETIIKEN 


when  her  mother  had  come  into  his  study,  dressed 
just  as  she  was,  and  had  begged  him  to  take 
charge  of  her  little  Magda  while  she  was  at  the 
Emperor  Rudolph’s  court ; and  he  left  the  house 
to  follow  the  orphan  maiden. 

He  saw  her  step  into  the  family  state  coach, 
formed  like  an  open  van,  but  gorgeously  painted 
and  embossed  with  gold — not  forgetting,  in  her 
pomp  and  excitement,  to  thank  the  attendants  for 
every  little  service — her  brother  on  horseback 
beside  the  carriage,  proudly  guarding  her. 

Every  one  was  in  the  streets  that  day  in 
Prague ; the  winter  sun  shone  brilliantly  in  honor 
of  the  “winter  king;”*  and  Hags  of  many  col- 
ors, with  triumphant  inscriptions,  flaunted  from 
house  to  house.  The  Moldau  was  crowded  with 
boats  full  of  peasants  in  holiday  attire ; the  Scla- 
vonian  youths  and  maidens  thronged  into  every 
gate,  singing  old  Czeskan  national  songs;  regi- 
ments of  Bohemian  infantry  marched  up  the 
streets,  with  spoils  from  the  suburbs  of  Vienna, 
followed  by  the  enthusiastic  cheers  of  the  people ; 
troops  of  Hungarian  and  Transylvanian  cavalry 
pranced  on  with  their  wild  eastern  music.  The 
city  was  full  of  happy  stir  and  bustle  and  life,  the 
tramp  of  infantry  and  the  prancing  of  horsemen, 
shouts  of  joyous  voices,  thrilling  bursts  of  military 
music,  grand  pealings  of  old  church  hymns, 
resounding  through  the  narrow  streets,  caught  up 


* The  name  commonly  given  to  the  Falatine,  Freddie,  in  Bo- 

hernia. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


129 


from  hill  to  hill,  from  the  Vissehrad  to  the  Hrad- 
shin,  and  floating  down  the  Moldau  to  the 
plain. 

As  the  old  pastor  moved  through  the  throng, 
his  pulse  beat  quick  with  the  common  enthusiasm ; 
and  he  thought,  “If  men’s  hearts  bound  so  high 
to  greet  an  earthly  sovereign,  what  will  it  be1 
when  the  Ancient  Nation  and  the  whole  earth 
shall  go  forth  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  on 
their  heads,  to  meet  the  King  of  kings,  no  stranger 
to  His  redeemed,  singing,  ‘Blessed  is  he  who 
cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ? ’ ” 

In  the  evening,  the  brother  and  sister  came  to 
him  apart,  to  tell  him  of  the  day’s  events. 

Henry  Otho  related  how  Magdalen  had  out- 
shone the  queen  herself  in  beauty  and  grace ; how 
many  eyes  had  rested  on  her,  how  many  lips  had 
murmured  praises  of  her  simple  grace,  and  how 
the  queen  herself  hat  addressed  gracious  words 
to  her,  saying  that  her  court  must  not  be  without 
such  an  ornament;  and  then  he  spoke  of  the 
enthusiastic  reception  of  the  new  sovereign. 

“And  now,”  he  added,  “ we  are  a nation  again 
at  last ; we  have  a Bohemian  king,  a Bohemian 
court,  a Bohemian  Diet,  a Bohemian  people,  and 
a Bohemian  Church.” 

And  Magdalen  came  afterwards,  and  told  how 
in  all  the  assembly  there  had  been  none  so  noble 
and  manly  as  her  own  brother,  and  the  queen  had 
mentioned  him  to  her,  “ the  dear,  beautiful,  good 
queen.” 


130  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

“Oh,  father!”  she  said,  “ she  is  so  gracious 
and  gentle — I could  love  her  as  a mother — and 
yet  so  noble  and  queenly,  my  whole  heart  bowed 
before  her ; and  when  the  people  cried  4 God  bless 
her ! ’ I could  not  help  weeping,  and  praying 
that  no  harm  may  ever  touch  that  royal  heart.” 

uSee,  Magda,”  he  replied,  “all  these  sacred 
and  blessed  relationships  has  God  given  us  to 
bind  us  in  happy  subjection  to  one  another.  Great 
is  the  peace  of  those  with  whom  all  these  relation- 
ships are  as  links  to  Him — all  centred  in  Him; 
great  shall  be  the  peace  of  the  earth  when  this 
shall  be  the  manifest  law  of  all.” 

She  looked  earnestly  in  his  face  for  an  instant, 
then,  kissing  his  forehead,  she  glided  from  the 
room. 

Then  returning  and  holding  the  door  in  her 
hand,  she  said — 

“ Why  was  it  that  the  rich,  magnificent  cho- 
ruses which  filled  the  old  cathedral  when  they 
crowned  our  king  and  queen  seemed  to  bear  me 
with  inexpressible  longings  to  the  very  gates  of 
heaven,  yet  left  me  still  longing  outside , whilst, 
when  we  sing  our  quiet  hymns  together  in  church, 
all  the  heavens  seem  opened,  and  I lie  as  nothing 
beneath  and  amidst  their  glory,  yet  happy 
as  a happy  child  ?” 

“Is  it  not  ever  so?”  the  old  man  answered: 
“the  pomp  of  man’s  religion  only  expands  the 
soul  in  vague  emotions,  as  if  it  were  the  Infinite, 
and  leaves  it  empty . God’s  religion  brings  down 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORA  VIA. 


131 


the  Infinite  into  the  soul,  and  fills  it.  Let  your 
heart  be  but  as  a flower  meekly  opened  to  the 
sky  with  all  its  stars,  and  the  heavens  shall  drop 
dew  into  it,  and  the  dead  earth  shall  distil  living 
sap  into  it.  Only  keep  your  soul  lifted  up,  and 
God  will  take  care  that  it  shall  grow.” 


132  SKETCHES  OP  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


III. 

THE  INCORRUPTIBLE  INHERITANCE. 

It  was  a crisp,  bright  spring  morning  in  1620. 

David  Jablonsky  and  Magdalen  von  Loss  were 
prolonging  their  walk  on  their  return  from  one  of 
those  invigorating  early  morning  services  of 
which  the  Moravian  Brethren  were  so  fond,  Henry 
Otho  being  absent  with  the  staff  of  Frederic’s 
army. 

They  had  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  Vissehrad. 
Down  its  precipitous  side  they  looked  on  the 
river,  the  low  golden  sunbeams  crisping  the  sides 
of  a hundred  masts,  sparkling  in  a thousand  rip- 
ples, glittering  capriciously,  through  the  morning 
mist,  on  roof  and  spire  and  tree  along  the  valley 
of  the  Moldau,  and  in  the  distance  clothing  with 
delicate  saffron  and  violet  tints  the  woods  and  the 
tops  of  the  hills ; whilst  the  clouds  were  as  bird- 
of-paradise  plumes,  fresh  rose-leaves,  pearly  shells, 
scattered  at  random  from  God’s  treasure-cham- 
bers, and  all — the  colors  of  the  clouds,  and  sky, 
and  hills,  the  laughter  of  children  from  the  city, 
the  songs  of  birds — all  fresh,  and  delicate,  and 
pure,  and  light,  as  the  soft  fragrance  of  the  bud- 
ding earth  which  wrapt  their  senses  imperceptibly 
as  in  a delicious  dream. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


133 


On  the  other  side  lay  Prague,  the  city  of  their 
fathers ; church,  and  palace  roofs,  and  gilded  pin- 
nacles, and  white  walls  shining  with  sharp  edges 
of  light;  the  old*  Bohemian  cathedral  on  the 
Hradsliin  crowning  all  the  city. 

“And. all,  all,”  said  Magdalen,  softly,  “work- 
ing together  for  good;  all  the  ministers  of  life 
.and  love ! Oh,  happy  earth,  with  God  shining 
on  it,  and  happy,  happy  creatures  we,  to  live  on 
it,  beloved  of  Him ! ” 

“ You  hath  He  reconciled,”  murmured  the  old 
man ; “ all  power  is  given  to  Him  in  heaven  and  in 
earth,  and  in  the  fulness  of  times  all  things  shall 
be  gathered  together  in  Him.” 

Then,  after  some  minutes  of  happy  silence,  she 
said,  as  they  descended  the  hill — 

“ What  hinders  the  world  from  being  Eden 
still  to  hearts  redeemed  and  set  free,  and  at  peace 
with  God?” 

“ His  presence  does  indeed  make  a temple  and 
an  Eden  about  the  faithful  heart  here,”  he  re- 
plied, “as  it  will  make  heaven  hereafter;  but, 
dear  child,  this  earth  is  not  all  Eden,  not  Eden 
for  all , for  there  are  on  it  dead  souls  turned  away 
from  the  light  of  God — thousands  who  sin  with- 
out repentance  and  suffer  without  being  chas- 
tened. For  millions  on  it,  Magda,  this  world  is 
an  hospital,  and  a charnel-house,  a place  of  sin 
and  pain ; there  are  men  to  whom  the  morning  for 
which  we  watch  shall  come  as  a sudden  destruc- 
tion, and  a terrific  close  of  life  and  hope  for  ever.” 

12 


134  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

“ But  that  can  he  no  cause/’  she  said,  shudder- 
ing, “ why  those  who  love  God,  knowing  His 
great  love,  should  not  let  some  songs  of  joy 
ascend  to  greet  Him  from  His  fallen  creation  ? ” 

“ It  can  be  no  cause  why  we  should  not  be 
thankful;  but  it  is  abundant  reason  why  we 
should  not  sit  still  and  dream,  painting  fairy  vis- 
ions on  the  darkness,”  he  rejoined.  “ In  Him  we 
are  indeed  commanded  to  rejoice  always.  His 
love  to  us,  and  the  union  of  the  believing  heart 
to  Him,  can  not  be  more  perfect  than  at  the  first 
moment  when,  in  faith,  we  touch  but  the  hem  of 
His  garment;  our  life  is  eternal,  and  c hidden’ 
above  all  storms,  and  therefore  our  peace  is  in 
its  nature  absolute  and  unchangeable  as  the  peace 
of  heaven.  To  dwell  in  the.  sense  of  this  is  our 
strength ; such  holy,  reasonable  joy  is,  in  itself, 
service.  The  very  presence  of  a heart  so  mani- 
festly at  peace  with  God  and  all  He  sends,  is  a 
gospel.” 

“ Then  why  speak  of  this  beautiful  earth  so 
often  as  a mere  wilderness  to  be  passed  through  ?” 
she  exclaimed:  “I  feel  so  at  home  here;  and 
would  not  God  have  us  feel  so*  while  we  re- 
main ? ” 

“Magda,”  he  replied,  gently,  “ it  is  most  im- 
portant that  our  peace  should  rest  on  objective 
realities,  not  on  inward  emotions.  Truth  is 
always  the  happiest  thing  to  believe  in  the  end : 
for  the  storm  comes  to  all,  and  truth  is  the  only 
thing  that  stands  it.  Now,  when  God  said, 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


135 


‘ This  is  not  our  rest/  He  meant  what  He  said  ; 
yet  surely  He  did  not  mean  this  for  ill  news,  but 
for  the  gladdest  tidings  men  can  hear.  We  have 
a ‘ better  country,’ — a city  that  hath  foundations; 
and  we  are  hastening  home,  not  empty-handed, 
but  with  hands  and  heart  full  of  His  gifts,  to 
minister  to  all,  as  we  journey,  and  with  lips  over- 
flowing with  His  blessed  invitations.  And  ever 
as  we  go,  the  Great  Comforter  is  fashioning  in 
our  hearts,  through,  fire  and  flood,  the  graces 
which  are  of  great  price  in  the  sight  of  our 
Lord.” 

“You  will  forgive  me,”  she  resumed;  “I  am 
afraid  I must  be  very  cold-hearted ; but  earth  is 
so  warm  and  familiar  to  me,  with  my  brother 
and  you,  and  so  many  to  love,  that  I can  not  help 
weeping  sometimes,  when  I think  of  leaving  it. 
I am  not  weary  of  life,  you  know,  and  I do  not 
need  sleep  or  rest ; and  the  grave  is  so  lonely, 
and  the  heavens,  with  the  spirits  and  their  un- 
wearying harps  and  songs — we  know  so  little 
about  them/’ 

“ Dear  Magda,”  he  said,  “ God  will  teach  you 
all  Ilis  lessons  in  His  own  time ; but  have  you 
forgotten  the  Resurrection?  Look  beyond  the 
parting  to  the  gathering,  look  on  beyond  the 
dim,  unclothed,  spirit-state  in  which  the  human 
heart  finds  no  resting-place  but  the  ‘for  ever  with 
theLorcV — to  that  bright  morning  when  He  who 
once  appeared  to  cheer  a weeping  woman  who  loved 
Him,  calling  her  ‘Mary,’  shall  come  again  to 


136  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

breathe  on  us  an  eternal  peace,  and  to  gather 
the  whole  redeemed  family  into  the  Father’s 
house.  Then  shall  the  pedestal  of  His  cross  be- 
come the  footstool  of  His  throne — then  shall  the 
earth,  unfettered  and  impregnated  in  the  new 
life,  ‘give  forth  her  increase,’  an  Eden  in  the 
keeping  of  an  Adam  who  has  endured  tempta- 
tion, and  vanquished  the  tempter — the  second 
Adam,  and  His  heavenly  Eve,  created,  whilst  He 
slept,  from  out  His  pierced  side,  bone  of  His 
bone,  flesh  of  His  flesh.  This,  Magdalen,  is  the 
glorious  hope  for  which  we  wait ; no  mere  un- 
clothing of  a wearied  spirit,  that  it  may  lie  down 
and  rest,  but  the  outpouring  of  the  fulness  of 
life  ; no  mere  selfish  deliverance  from  conflict  and 
pain,  but  the  redemption  of  the  whole  Church 
from  all  fetters,  the  emancipation  of  the  whole 
creation,  the  day  of  the  triumph  of  our  Lord,  the 
marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb,*  This  is  the  over- 
whelming joy  which  lies  before  us — for  this  the 
whole  family  in  earth  and  heaven  wait — for  this 
result  of  the  travail  of  His  soul,  the  Conqueror 
also  waits,  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  God.” 

Much  more  he  said,  which  I may  not  now  re- 
peat ; but  as  he  spoke,  tears  gathered  in  Magda- 
len’s eyes,  and  she  said — 

“Father!  I am  but  a child;  I have  much  to 


* I do  not  at  all  mean  to  attribute  these  definite  thoughts  as  to  the 
future  to  the  whole  body  of  the  Moravians.  I believe  there  have 
always  been  individuals  amongst  them  who  have  in  some  measure 
rested  on  them. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


137 


learn  ; these  things  overwhelm  me.  I seem  step* 
ping  into  a new  and  infinite  world,  and  my  heart 
trembles/’ 

44  Fear  not,  my  child,”  he  answered — “God 
teaches  very  patiently.  He  will  take  thee  by 
the  hand,  and  lead  thee  gently  on.  The  Almighty 
One  is  also  the  meek  and  lowly  in  heart ; He 
gives  wisdom  liberally  to  all  that  lack  and  ask 
for  it,  and  upbraid eth  not.” 

Magdalen  read  her  Bible  much  that  evening, 
with  a new  reverence — read  of  the  new  creation, 
commenced  in  the  soul  of  the  feeblest  believer, 
destined  to  find  its  completion  when  we  shall 
awake  in  perfect  likeness  to  the  risen  Lord,  and 
its  final  home  in  the  new  birth  from  dissolution 
of  the  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth  ; and  she 
lay  down  to  sleep  with  the  joyful  consciousness 
that  she  was  a learner  in  a school  of  inexhaust- 
ible truth,  having  for  her  teacher  Him  who 
knows  all  things  because  He  has  made  them, 
knows  the  heights  of  God,  and  the  depths  of  man, 
by  being  both. 

And  the  morning  found  Him  still  about  her 
path  as  He  had  been  about  her  bed — and  the 
day’s  work  shone  to  her  with  the  light  of  her 
eternal  home 


12s*6 


138  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BEETHEEN 


IV. 

THE  BATTLE. 

Magdalen  had  need  of  something  to  strengthen 
her.  She  had  plenty  of  petty  trials  to  prove 
whether  the  new  hopes  which  had  arisen  on  her 
heart  were  mere  pictures  of  light — glowing,  but 
opaque — or  transparencies  letting  in  real  light  on 
the  dark  corners  of  life. 

The  affairs  of  Bohemian  Protestantism  looked 
more  and  more  gloomy  every  day. 

Frederic  threw  away  half  his  advantages  by 
mismanagement,  and  let  the  rest  slip  away  by 
his  indolence  and  indecision.  His  generals  were 
jealous  of  each  other;  his  Bohemian  subjects  were 
jealous  of  the  Germans  ; and  there  was  no  strong 
will,  no  plastic  mind,  to  mould  the  discordant 
elements  into  harmonious  combination.  Men 
who  should  have  supported  one  another  only 
jostled  one  another,  because  there  was  no  one  to 
fix  them  in  their  places;  and  whilst  the  Prot- 
estants were  hesitating  and  quarreling  about 
their  rank  in  the  procession,  the  Emperor  Ferdi- 
nand and  his  Catholics  came  and  stole  away  the 
ark. 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MORAVIA. 


139 


Henry  Otho  von  Loss,  and  other  wise  and  dis- 
interested men  amongst  his  party,  doubtless  saw 
this,  but  they  saw  it  as  the  guardian  angel  is  said 
to  see  the  errors  of  his  charge — with  fruitless 
foresight. 

They  labored,  and  entreated,  and  contended, 
but  their  voices  seemed  only  to  serve  to  increase 
the  clamor,  until  at  last  they  had  no  resource  but 
each  to  do  his  own  duty,  and  leave  things  to  ar- 
range themselves  as  they  would. 

All  this  fretted  Henry  Otho’s  temper  intoler- 
ably ; like  a strong  wave  struggling  against  an 
ebbing  tide,  to  spend  all  his  strength,  only  to  find 
himself  at  each  successive  effort  further  from  the 
goal,  it  was  very  bitter;  and,  in  addition  to  this 
natural  disappointment,  he  felt  all  that  a Chris- 
tian feels  who  has  entangled  himself  in  a thousand 
cares  and  schemes,  and  yet  fears  to  look  straight 
up  to  God,  lest  one  clear  glance  from  Him  should 
pierce  through  all  the  laborious  fabric,  and  smite 
it  to  pieces  in  an  instant.  Not  that  he  was  pre- 
cisely conscious  of  this,  but  he  felt  less  at  home 
with  himself,  and  therefore  hurried  the  more  im- 
petuously on  in  the  path  he  had  chosen. 

Magdalen  had  entered  heart  and  soul  into  all 
her  brother’s  schemes  for  liberating  Bohemia  and 
the  truth,  but  she  was  less  involved  in  the  details 
of  their  practical  execution ; doubts  of  their  con- 
sistency with  the  calling  of  the  Church  to  lowly 
patience,  and  rendering  good  for  evil,  occasion- 
ally crossed  her  mind,  and  of  late  she  had  not 


140  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

sought  to  banish  them,  but  had  simply  asked  foi 
more  light. 

At  first,  in  the  ardor  of  her  new  interest  in 
Divine  truth,  she  had  sought  to  communicate  it 
to  her  brother;  but  he  grew  first  weary  and  then 
impatient,  so  that  she  ceased  to  speak  to  him  on 
the  subject,  and  endeavored  to  enter  as  much  as 
she  could  into  his  cares. 

But  even  this  did  not  always  please  him : “ What 
could  women  understand  of  such  things?”  And 
then,  if  she  took  refuge  in  her  painting,  he  would 
say,  “ These  were  no  times  for  such  child’s  play.” 

At  first  Magdalen  was  surprised  and  indignant 
at  this — she  for  whom  his  watchful  love  had  al- 
ways been  providing  some  new  pleasure;  and 
often  she  was  sorely  perplexed  and  tried ; but  her 
tact  and  gentleness  seldom  failed : not  that  it  was 
any  great  merit  in  her ; she  loved  her  brother 
literally  as  herself,  and  often  some  burst  of  re- 
pentant tenderness  would  make  up  to  her  for  a 
thousand  words,  harsher  than  any  he  had  ever 
spoken;  for  the  kindness,  she  knew,  was  meant, 
the  harshness  not. 

She  was  always  ready  to  welcome  him  with 
some  playful  or  loving  word,  or  some  proof  of 
thought  for  his  comfort ; thus  working  out  the 
prayers  which,  with  so  many  tears,  she  daily  of- 
fered for  him. 

So  she  was  daily  gaining  wisdom  in  the  lore  of 
life,  the  blessed  art  of  watching  and  ministering 
to  the  sick  at  heart. 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


141 


God  was  training  her  for  farther  lessons, 
lie  was  leading  her  consciously  u with  Ilis 
eye,”  teaching  her  with  Ilis  own  voice  the  way 
in  which  she  should  go ; and,  though  with  the 
rougher  lessons  of  external  providence,  He  was 
as  surely  training  and  directing  the  yet  unsub- 
missive heart  of  her  brother. 

And  the  old  pastor  looked  on,  and  helped, 
and  counseled — and  where  he  could  do  neither, 
prayed  for  both  his  children,  thus  laboring  to- 
gether with  God. 


It  was  the  eve  of  the  8th  of  November,  1G20, 
the  eve  of  one  of  those  decisive  days  on  which 
centuries  of  a nation’s  destiny  are  suffered  to  de- 
pend. All  Prague,  the  Imperial  and  Bohemian 
armies  encamped  in  its  neighborhood,  all  Bohe- 
mia and  Protestant  and  Catholic  Germany,  lay 
awaiting  the  issue  of  the  battle  to  be  fought  on 
the  White  Mountains. 

Once  more  Magdalen  von  Loss  and  her  brother 
sat  in  the  old  room,  with  its  family  portraits  and 
tapestry,  its  oaken  cabinets,  and  high,  deep  win- 
dows— chatting  by  the  blazing  hearth. 

Insensibly,  as  the  twilight  deepened,  their  con- 
versation wandered  off  from  national  prospects 
and  dangers,  to  the  old  days  before  care  had  set 
in  on  them — to  plots  and  ambuscades  concocted 
behind  the  tapestry,  to  tears  shed  over  difficult 


142  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

lessons,  through  which  could  be  seen  no  glimpse 
of  hope — bitter  griefs,  forgotten  the  next  day ; tc 
Henry  Oth o’s  gracious  condescensions,  and  Mag- 
dalen’s unlimited  reverence;  quarrels  cemented 
into  indestructible  alliances;  blame  borne  for 
one  another,  and  pleasures  hoarded  up ; all  the 
world  of  love  and  trust  they  had  been  to  one  an- 
other— the  orphan  brother  and  sister. 

They  chatted  merrily  of  it  all,  not  daring  to 
look  forward,  or  to  touch  any  deeper  chords. 

Then  all  the  household  met  in  the  great  hall  to 
commit  themselves  and  one  another  to  the  care  of 
God ; and  His  peace  came  down  on  them  as  they 
prayed,  so  that  the  young  Count  took  a hopeful 
leave  of  them  all. 

“ Magda,”  he  whispered,  “ forget  all  my  cross 
words  : things  have  gone  wrong  sometimes,  but 
one  way  or  another  God’s  cause  must  triumph  : 
after  to-morrow  we  will  be  His  happy  and  trust- 
ful children  again.  Good-bye.” 

Magdalen  bore  up  bravely,  only  after  he  was 
gone  weeping  and  praying  for  him,  till  she  fell 
asleep  from  weariness. 

But  they  were  soft,  childlike  tears,  falling 
through  the  light  of  happy  hopes. 

Henry  Otho  von  Loss  lay  by  one  of  the  watch- 
fires  in  the  Protestant  encampment,  on  the  White 
Mountains.  The  country  was  glowing  with  the 
feverish  flicker  and  glare  of  many  watchfires, 
gleaming  here  and  there  on  the  forms  and  arms 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


143 


of  men,  scattered  over  the  ground  in  every  at- 
titude of  hasty  slumber. 

With  the  exception  of  the  patroles  and  those 
Mho  had  to  plan  to-morrow’s  movements,  the  two 
armies  were  asleep. 

The  night  was  still,  yet  beneath  the  stillness 
there  was  an  undercurrent  of  stir  and  preparation ; 
some  groups  talking  in  hushed  voices,  others 
stealthily  changing  their  position,  the  crackling 
of  fires,  and  the  occasional  challenge  of  sentinels. 

Above,  the  calm  was  absolute,  the  moon  pass- 
ing noiselessly  in  and  out  amongst  white  clouds, 
and  all  the  heavens  full  of  her  peaceful  light. 

As  he  lay  there,  musing,  he  saw  a dark  figure 
approaching  the  height,  which  on  nearer  ap- 
proach he  recognized  to  be  that  of  Jablonsky. 
He  beckoned  the  old  man  to  him,  and  they  sat 
down  together  by  the  fire. 

“ What  brings  you  hither  at  this  hour  ?” 

“ I came  to  see  wrhat  was  the  character  of  an 
army  sworn  to  defend  the  holy  cause.” 

“ And  you  found  little  satisfaction  ? The  camp 
is  a barren  field  for  missionary  labor — at  least, 
until  after  the  battle.” 

“ And  yet  Avhere  is  there  more  need  of  a life 
hidden  beyond  the  grave  ?” 

“ Did  they  listen  to  your  message?”  said  Von 
Loss. 

“ Some  listened  and  some  mocked,  and  some 
turned  away,  and  some  began  to  tell  me  of  Chris- 
tian homes  and  early  childish  lessons,  until  they 


144  SKETCHES  OF  TIIE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


wept  and  made  promises  for  to-morrow.  The 
hearts  of  men  are  the  same  everywhere.” 

“ But  did  you  tind  the  men  generally  sanguine 
about  the  issue  of  to-morrow  ?” 

uTo  be  candid  with  you,  I did  not;  your 
army,  they  say,  is  so  mixed;  the  Bohemians 
seem  indignant  at  having  to  fight  under  Ger- 
mans, and  beside  foreigners  from  Hungary  and 
Transylvania,  whom  they  look  on  as  little  better 
than  Turks  and  barbarians.” 

“ Father !”  said  the  soldier,  rising  and  standing 
before  him,  “ must  not  the  cause  of  the  Almighty 
triumph  ?” 

“ It  must,  it  shall,”  said  the  old  man,  firmly, 
u though  not  perhaps  by  the  arms  of  the  mighty. 
Our  banner  of  victory  is  the  cross.  The  cross, 
and  not  the  sword ; for  we  also  conquer  by  sacri- 
ficing, not  by  avenging  ourselves.  The  cross, 
and  not  the  crucifix ; for  He  who  was  once  nailed 
to  it  now  rests  in  triumph,  having  obtained  for 
Himself,  and  for  us,  an  eternal  victory.” 

“ I understand,”  said  Henry  Otho,  in  a low 
voice ; “ but  if,  perchance,  we  have  chosen  wrong 
ways  to  His  end,  must  not  His  end  nevertheless 
be  reached,  and  His  cause  prevail  ?” 

“ His  triumph  is  as  certain  as  His  Godhead,” 
replied  Jablonsky,  solemnly;  “living  or  dying, 
vanquished  or  victorious,  we  only  further  His 
supreme  and  blessed  purposes.  He  has  under- 
taken, not  only  to  save  His  people,  but  to  guide 
them,  and  He  will  do  it.” 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA 


145 


“ It  is  well,”  replied  Yon  Loss  : “ whether  my 
earthly  life  serve,  by  being  trampled  into  soil,  to 
nourish  other  lives,  or,  by  spreading  into  a forest, 
to  shelter  them,  I can  trust  Him  implicitly  with 
it;  forme,  and  for  His  Church,  it  is  well . My 
blood  may  flow  in  vain,  but  my  Saviour’s  can 
not.  Kneel  once  more,  father,  and  pray  for  me, 
for  does  not  His  blood  cleanse  from  all  sin  ?” 

The  old  man  prayed  in  few  and  simple  words, 
for  his  heart  was  full ; and  then  embracing  Henry 
Otlio,  he  hastened  back  to  Prague. 

On  the  next  day,  the  cause  of  Bohemian  Prot- 
estantism received  its  death-blow.  The  Bohe- 
mians gave  way  the  last,  but  to  die  at  their  posts 
was  all  their  valor  could  achieve. 

As  the  consequence  of  that  day,  the  pastors 
were  driven  first  from  Prague,  and  then  from 
Bohemia ; the  churches  were  closed ; those  who 
could  emigrate,  did ; those  who  could  not,  kept 
the  faith  in  secret,  or  betrayed  it,  or  were  put  to 
death. 

The  Reformation  was  crushed  in  Bohemia  un- 
til this  day. 


146  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN. 


Y. 

THE  VICTORY. 

Eight  months  had  passed,  bringing  round  to 
Magdalen  and  her  brother  the  eve  of  another 
battle. 

But  the  issue  of  this  conflict  was  certain,  the 
armor  proof. 

It  was  the  20th  of  June,  1621. 

On  the  morrow,  Henry  Otho  von  Loss,  with 
twenty-six  defenders  of  the  Protestant  religion, 
was  to  die  on  the  scaffold. 

They  allowed  Magdalen  to  enter  the  cell,  in 
the  castle  of  Prague,  in  Avhich  her  brother  was 
imprisoned,  and  to  Cpend  an  hour  with  him  there. 
They  had  been  praying  together,  and  now  they 
sat  quietly  hand  in  hand,  fearing  to  make  those 
last  moments  pass  more  quickly  by  any  move- 
ment or  burst  of  emotion.  The  thousand  frag- 
ments and  reminiscences  and  farewells,  which 
that  hour  could  never  have  contained,  were  all 
condensed  into  the  one  prayer — 

“ Father,  we  commit  one  another  to  Thee.” 

“Tell  Pastor  Jablonsky,”  he  said,  “that  his 


147 


OF  BOHEMIA  ANB  MORAVIA. 

words  are  with  me  to  the  last.  I dm  sure  he 
has  been  praying  for  me,  and  has  been  an- 
swered.” 

They  had  not  suffered  any  of  the  pastors  of 
the  Bohemian  Brethren  to  visit  the  prisons.  The 
Jesuits  distinguished  them  with  this  especial 
hatred. 

“ After  all  my  mistakes,  Magda,”  he  murmured, 
“that  He  should  suffer  me  to  die  for  Him !” 

She  did  not  attempt  to  speak. 

“ Magda,”  he  resumed,  “ my  sister,  you  will 
suffer,  but  trust  His  love;  it  is  not  charity  or 
kindness,  Magda,  it  is  love — love  deeper  than 
mine.  And,  sister,  do  not  struggle  with  sorrow, 
it  is  of  no  use;  sink  down  on  Him . He  can  heal, 
He  will  sustain  you.  And — oh,  do  not  grieve  an 
instant  for  me ! You  are  the  martyr,  not  I.” 

She'  sank  on  his  shoulder,  and  they  wept  to- 
gether; but  the  step  of  the  jailer  echoed  through 
the  narrow  passage,  and  the  long  embrace  had  to 
be  unclasped. 

Once  more  they  stood  hand  in  hand,  and  Henry 
said,  calmly,  “By  and  by,  my  sister,  after  the 
little  while,  we  shall  have  time  to  say  all  we 
would.” 

“At  His  feet,”  murmured  Magdalen — for  his 
sake,  with  a strong  effort,  repressing  her  tears. 

They  parted  in  silence. 

Magdalen  went  home  alone.  She  entered  the 
house  without  speaking,  and,  quietly  passing 
through  the  hall  and  up  the  staircase,  she  opened 


148  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

the  door  of  the  family  sitting-room,  and  softly 
closing  it  again,  she  sat  down  before  her  drawing- 
table,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands. 

She  was  still  leaning  thus  to  avoid  the  pain  of 
seeing,  when  she  heard  a soft  step  in  the  room, 
and  looking  up,  she  saw  pastor  Jablonsky  stand- 
ing close  before  her. 

She  was  not  weeping,  but  tears  ran  fast  over 
his  cheeks  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  to  him,  and  said  gently — 
u Life  is  not  so  very  long,  father,  after  all/’ 

He  could  not  answer,  but  he  sat  down  beside 
her ; and  folding  her  hands  on  her  knees,  she  said 
no  more. 

She  sat  long  without  moving,  when  a rough 
head  was  thrust  under  her  hand,  and  in  another 
moment  old  Rudolph’s  paws  were  on  her  lap. 

Then  her  tears  fell  fast  on  his  shaggy  head; 
he  looked  wistfully  in  her  face  and  moaned,  and 
licked  her  hands  as  if  to  comfort  her,  until,  hiding 
her  face  on  the  old  man’s  arm,  she  wept  bitterly. 
And  Jablonsky  whispered — 

“ Now  Jesus  loved  Mary  and  her  sister  and 
Lazarus 

On  that  evening  the  confessors  were  removed 
to  the  Town  Hall.  The  scaffold  was  already 
erected  before  it ; and  as  they  passed,  many  of 
their  brethren  and  fellow-prisoners  greeted  them 
from  the  windows  with  hymns,  and  the  people 
thronged  around  them  and  wept.  * 

* The  following  scene  is  strictly  historical, 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MORAVIA. 


149 


On  the  morrow,  they  all  dressed  as  if  for  a 
wedding ; and  one  by  one,  as  they  were  led  out 
to  execution,  they  cheered  one  another  on  to  the 
combat.  The  farewell  would  not  be  long. 

When  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Henry  Otho  von 
Loss,  a Lutheran  minister  accompanied  the 
guards.  Yon  Loss  had  been  amongst  those  who, 
perhaps,  from  too  fond  an  attachment  to  the 
Church  of  their  fathers,  had  refused  to  receive  the 
Lord’s  Supper  from  the  hands  of  a Lutheran : but 
when  he  saw  the  minister,  he  arose  from  his  seat 
as  if  in  a kind  of  ecstasy,  and  said  to  him — 

“How  I rejoice  to  see  you,  man  of  God,  that  I 
may  tell  you  what  has  happened  to  me ! I was 
sitting  in  this  chair,  grieving  bitterly  that  I could 
not  receive  the  Supper,  having  desired,  as  you 
know,  a minister  of  our  own  Church.  I fell  asleep 
in  my  grief:  and  lo,  in  a dream,  the  Lord  ap- 
peared to  me,  and  said,  ‘My  grace  is  sufficient 
for  thee : I cleanse  thee  in  My  blood.’  At  the 
same  instant,  I felt,  as  it  were,  Ilis  blood  flow 
over  my  heart;  and  since  I awoke,  I have  felt 
singularly  strengthened  and  refreshed.” 

Thereupon  he  broke  into  these  words  of 
triumph — 

“ Yes  ; believe , and  thou  hast  eaten  the  flesh  of 
the  Son  of  man.  I have  no  more  fear  of  death. 
My  J esus  comes  to  meet  me  with  His  angels,  to 
lead  me  to  His  marriage  supper,  where  I shall  for 
ever  drink  with  Him  the  cup  of  joy  and  glad- 
ness.” 


13* 


150  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

He  ascended  the  scaffold  full  of  joy,  first  pros* 
trating  himself  in  prayer,  then  having  risen,  and 
laid  aside  his  garments,  he  again  knelt,  saying, 
“Lord  Jesus,  receive  me  into  Thy  glory!”  and 
whilst  he  was  uttering  this  last  word,  he  received 
the  death-blow. 

Thus  did  the  cause  of  external  Protestantism 
in  Bohemia  fail,  and  thus  did  the  Church  of  God 
triumph. 

It  was  night — a summer’s  night ; and  under  the 
calm  stars  a funeral  procession  bore  the  body  of 
Henry  Otho  von  Loss  to  his  tomb  amongst  the 
recesses  of  the  hills. 

The  mourners  were  a band  of  outlawed  Prot- 
estants, yet  they  sang  hymns  as  they  went — 
hymns  of  hope  and  victory — and  the  soft  music 
was  peaceful  as  the  songs  of  angels,  transpiercing 
the  calm. 

One  woman  followed  the  bier,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  an  old  man.  When  they  reached  the  new- 
made  grave,  he  left  her  to  perform  the  last  rites 
over  the  dead,  and  she  stood  a little  way  off  alone, 
her  hand  resting  on  the  head  of  an  old  stag-hound. 

The  corpse  was  lowered  into  the  grave,  and  the 
earth  fell  on  the  coffin. 

Then  arose  the  beautiful  Moravian  Funeral 
Litany,  * floating  through  the  silence  with  its 
responsive  music. 

At  first  all  joined — at  least,  all  who  could  lor 

* I do  not  know  whether  the  Litany,  from  which  the  following 
extracts  are  taken,  existed  so  early  as  this.  It  is  now  used  in  tho 
Easter  Morning  Service,  in  the  Moravian  cemeteries, 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MORAVIA. 


151 


weeping,  for  amongst  the  mourners  were  many 
faithful  old  servants  of  the  family — in  the  hymn, 

“ I know  that  my  Redeemer  lives  — 

the  eternal  song  of  triumph  of  the  resurrection. 
Then  Pastor  J ablonsky  said — 

“ Glory  to  Him  who  is  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life ! He  hath  been  dead,  but  now  He  liveth 
for  evermore;  and  he  who  belie veth  in  Him, 
though  lie  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live.  To  Him 
be  glory  in  the  Church  which  awaits  His  ap- 
pearing, and  in  that  around  His  throne.” 

And  the  assembly  responded — 
u For  ever  and  ever.  Amen.” 

Then  the  minister’s  voice  arose  again,  at  first 
feeble  and  broken,  but  gradually  gathering 
strength  from  the  power  of  the  words  he  ut- 
tered:— 


u Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 

By  Thy  human  birth, 

By  Thy  meritorious  tears, 

By  all  the  miseries  of  Thy  life, 

By  Thy  languor  and  Thy  pains, 

By  the  distress  and  anguish  of  Thy  soul, 

By  Thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat, 

By  Thine  insults,  stripes,  and  wounds, 

By  Thy  painful  death, 

By  Thy  return  to  us,  or 
By  our  resting  in  Thy  bosom  ” — 

And  with  one  voice  the  people  cried — 

“ Comfort  us,  O Lord  our  God! 

Then,  turning  to  the  mourners,  and  especially 
to  her  who  stood  apart,  he  lifted  up  his  hands, 
and  said — 


152  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

44  The  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee. 

44  The  Lord  make  His  face  to  shine  upon  thee, 
and  be  gracious  unto  thee. 

“The  Lord  lift  up  His  countenance  upon  thee, 
and  give  thee  peace” 

And  all  the  little  band  responded — 

44  In  the  name  of  Jesus.  Amen.” 

Then  leaving  the  grave,  Jablonsky  went  again 
to  Magdalen — for  it  was  she — and  led  her 
home. 

44  My  child,”  he  said,  trying  in  vain  to  check 
his  own  tears — 44  My  child,  God  is  indeed  teach- 
ing thee  the  lessons  of  the  wilderness.” 

44  But  He  is  with  me,”  she  replied ; 44  and 
He  teaches  me  also  that  it  is  the  way  to  our 
rest.” 

And  the  next  morning,  like  another  Magdalen 
to  another  sepulchre,  whose  opening  has  made 
all  burial-places  for  us  only  sleeping-places,  she 
came  early,  when  it  was  yet  dark,  unto  the 
tomb. 

And  kneeling  on  the  fresh  earth,  she  said  with 
her  whole  heart,  amidst  her  sobs — 

44  Master ! ” 

And  Jesus  said  by  His  Spirit  to  her  heart — 
f 44  Peace  be  unto  thee ! Go  unto  my  breth- 
ren, and  say  unto  them,  I ascend  unto  my 
Father  and  your  Father,  unto  my  God  and  your 
God.” 

She  and  her  brother  were  His.  His  Father 
*ras  their  Father.  It  was  enough.  She  also  had 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MOKAVIA. 


153 


learned  the  meaning  of  the  words  Death  and 
Resurrection. 

The  Great  Hope  of  t'Ae  Church  had  become 
the  great  hope  of  her  heart. 

She  also  went  forth  in  His  strength,  to  wit- 
ness by  her  life  that  the  Lord  was  risen  in- 
deed. 


154  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BKETHEEN 


VL 


THE  PEACE. 

Magdalen  never  married.  Without  father  01 
mother,  or  brother  or  sister,  an  exile  from  her 
country,  cut  off  from  all  ties  of  kindred,  she 
passed  the  prime  and  close  of  her  life,  which  was  a 
long  one.  Can  you  conceive  anything  more 
desolate  ? 

In  a little  cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  Dresden, 
an  old  paralytic  woman  lay  on  a low  bed.  Every- 
thing about  her  was  scrupulously  clean,  and  a 
young  girl,  having  just  completed  her  arrange- 
ments about  the  room,  was  seated  by  the  fire, 
knitting. 

“Why  does  not  she  come?”  said  the  old 
woman,  querulously.  “It  is  long  past  her  time  ; 
but  the  strong  and  healthy  never  think  how 
slowly  time  passes  on  the  sick-bed.” 

“O  grandmother,”  said  the  girl,  “I  am  sure 
she  always  thinks ! The  snow  is  lying  thick  on 
the  ground,  and  every  now  and  then  it  beats  in 
heavy  drifts  against  the  window.  Perhaps  the 
Fraulein  may  not  be  able  to  come  to-night.” 
But  the  latch  was  softly  raised  before  she  could 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


155 


finish  her  sentence,  and  the  Fraulein  entered, 
and,  after  a few  preliminary  inquiries,  took  her 
usual  place  beside  the  old  woman’s  bedside,  and 
began  to  read  to  her  from  the  New  Testament. 

It  had  been  rather  a hopeless  task,  and  if  Mag- 
dalen’s eyes  had  not  been  directed  rather  to 
Divine  promises  than  to  visible  results,  she  would 
have  grown  weary  of  it  years  before ; for,  although 
the  old  woman  always  listened  attentively,  and 
was  very  much  aggrieved  if  the  daily  visit  were 
omitted,  she  seldom  vouchsafed  any  more  cheer- 
ing declaration  than — 

“Well,  all  these  things  are  very  good;  but 
the  comforts  of  this  life  are  very  needful,  and  the 
poor  body  must  be  cared  for.” 

But  to-night,  when  she  had  laid  aside  the  book, 
and  had  arisen  from  her  prayer,  and  had  pre- 
sented the  sickly  creature  with  a warm  shawl  ot 
her  own  knitting,  the  old  woman’s  heart  seemed 
touched  at  last,  and  grasping  Magdalen’s  hand 
tight  for  some  moments  in  her  own,  she  said — 

“Well  the  comforts  of  this  life  are  very  need- 
ful; but  the  Great  Gift  of  God,  and  Ilis  grace  in 
the  heart  are  above  all.” 

It  was  reward  enough  for  labors  a thousand 
times  more  irksome.  Tears  gathered  in  Magda- 
len’s eyes,  and  she  went  home  with  a glad  heart, 
too  happy  to  heed  the  cold,  but  not  too  full  ta 
notice  how  the  pure,  moonlight  lay  in  silvery 
streaks  on  the  pure,  smooth  snow,  roofing  com- 
mon houses  with  alabaster,  fretting  the  bare 


156  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

trees  with  fairy  tracery,  and  to  thank  God  from 
her  heart  for  all  the  changing  beauty  of  this  fair 
earth.  Magdalen’s  religion  was  no  mere  inward 
emotion : it  was  a reception  into  her  inmost  soul 
of  the  truth,  which  is  the  u incorruptible  seed” 
of  the  new  life ; it  was  the  living  relationship  of 
a redeemed  sinner  to  the  living  God.  Being  re- 
ceived into  the  family,  and  taught  the  freedom 
of  the  child,  she  had  also  been  taught  the  “ per- 
fect freedom  ” of  those  who,  having  no  object  in 
life  but  Ilis  service  who  guides  every  step  of 
their  lives,  labor  under  no  cares,  and  can  meet 
with  no  hindrances. 

Two  little  faces  were  peeping  out  of  the  door 
of  a house  in  Dresden. 

“ Why  would  she  go  out  this  bitter  weather  ?” 
said  one. 

“We  will  go  to  meet  her  if  she  does  not  come 
soon,”  said  another. 

But  in  a few  minutes  they  caught  a glimpse  of 
her  coming  quickly  up  the  street. 

Joyous  welcomes  were  on  every  lip,  laughing 
reproaches,  and  tender,  loving  words,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  children  had  “ Sister  Magdalen” 
in  by  a blazing  Christmas  fire ; one  chafing  her 
hands,  another  taking  off  her  snow  shoes,  a third 
removing  her  wet  cloak,  a fourth  bringing  a 
warm  shaAvi,  and  a fifth  busy  little  fairy  prepar- 
ing a basin  of  hot  pottage. 

These  Avere  all  orphans  of  Bohemian  martyrs, 
to  Avhose  maintenance  and  education  Magdalen 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


157 


von  Loss  lmd  devoted  the  remains  of  her  brother’s 
confiscated  fortune  and  her  life. 

Then,  when  she  had  rested,  there  were  narra- 
tives of  the  day’s  doings  and  learnings  to  be 
given,  and  counsel  to  be  sought ; and  in  reward 
for  lessons  well  learnt,  and  tasks  well  done,  came 
the  general  plea  for  a story  of  old  Bohemia. 

The  firelight  shone  cheerfully  on  the  eager 
child-like  faces,  and  on  the  gray  hair  and  quiet 
happy  eyes  of  the  story-teller.  Then  were  the 
old  heroic  tales  she  had  listened  to  by  the  fire- 
side at  Prague  poured  forth  afresh  into  the  young 
fresh  hearts ; — for  when  will  the  harvest  end,  to 
be  reaped  from  the  seed  of  one  holy  life,  laid 
down  for  the  brethren,  and  laid  up  in  the  book  of 
Church  History  written  in  heaven  ? 

“ Oh !”  said  one  of  the  children,  “ we  will  be 
more  useful  than  ever,  and  more  like  our  fathers, 
when  this  bitter  frost  is  passed,  and  we  can  go 
out  again.  I wish  there  were  no  such  thing  as 
frost.” 

“ Do  not  murmur  at  the  frost  and  snow,  dear 
child,”  said  Magdalen,  smoothing  back  the  eager 
little  girl’s  hair ; “ the  fire  never  burns  so  brightly 
as  in  the  frosty  weather  : and  the  snow,  you  know, 
is  God’s  mantle,  under  which  the  flowers  are  kept 
warm  against  the  spring.” 

“ That  is  one  of  Sister  Magdalen’s  parables,” 
the  children  whispered  thoughtfully  to  one  an- 
other. 

The  spring  came.  One  of  Magdalen’s  orphans 
14 


158  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

was  betrothed  to  the  pastor  of  Lohmen ; she  had 
given  the  children  a holiday  amongst  the  wild 
beautiful  gorges  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland ; and 
now  she  and  the  young  betrothed  stood  alone  on 
the  rough  bridge  which  connected  the  heights  of 
the  Bastei  with  those  on  which  are  the  ruins  of 
the  castle  of  the  robber  knight  of  Thuba. 

On  one  side  of  the  narrow  bridge  they  could 
look  down  into  the  deep  hollow  of  the  Grunbacli- 
thal,  tall  firs  seeming  like  rock-plants  in  the  crev- 
ices of  the  gigantic  perpendicular  walls  of  rock, 
and  the  deep  green  fields  resting  peacefully  be- 
low. 

But  they  were  turning  in  the  other  direction, 
where,  on  the  left,  the  Elbe  wound  beneath  the 
heights  of  Konigstein  and  Lilienstein,  flattened 
as  if  for  the  pedestals  of  fortresses ; and  on  the 
right,  through  wooded  hills,  to  the  broad  plains 
of  Dresden;  whilst  beyond,  the  setting  sun 
glowed  on  the  mountains  which  girded  in  Bohe- 
mia. The  soft  air  was  full  of  light  and  of  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  it  had  opened ; snow- 
drops and  blades  of  grass  trembled  and  shone  in 
the  interstices  of  the  natural  masonry. 

“ How  glorious  and  wonderful  all  this  is!”  said 
Magdalen ; “ think,  my  child,  what  it  will  be 
when  every  city  shall  be  a holy  city,  every  cot- 
tage a temple  of  God ; when  the  grace  of  God 
shall  rest  on  all  hearts  as  it  now  does  on  all 
nature ; when  the  Church,  from  her  heavenly 
dwelling-place,  with  its  ever-open  gates,  shall 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


159 


minister  to  men  as  even  angels  never  can ; — help- 
ing as  those  help  who  have  been  tried ; comfort- 
ing as  those  comfort  who  have  suffered  !” 

“ Did  you  always  love  nature,”  asked  the 
maiden,  “ as  you  do  now  V9 

“ I always  loved  her,”  Magdalen  replied,  “ but 
I think  never  so  much  as  now ; the  love  of  years 
of  familiar  kindness  is  stronger,  my  child,  than 
the  glow  of  early  feeling.  In  my  youth  my 
thoughts  danced  like  fairies  in  the  sunbeams, 
often  with  the  glancing  of  their  bright  wings 
hiding  the  deeper  beauty  of  God’s  works.  Now 
I can  look  and  listen,  and  never  tire  of  being  still, 
and  letting  the  beautiful  pictures  lie  upon  my 
heart.” 

“ But,  Sister  Magdalen,  you  did  not  glide  all 
at  once  into  this  calm  ?” 

“ No.  Thirty  years  ago  all  my  life  was  laid 
waste  and  rent  asunder.  It  was  by  the  grave  of 
my  only  brother  that  I learnt  the  calling  of  the 
stranger  traveling  to  the  heavenly  home ; and  the 
lesson  has  been  worth  the  cost  ” 

“ But  is  there  no  way  of  learning  these  lessons 
but  through  suffering  such  as  that  ? ” asked  the 
bethrothed  bride,  shuddering. 

“ God  has  a thousand  ways  of  teaching  us,  my 
child,”  she  answered.  “ He  can  teach  by  giving 
as  well  as  by  withholding.  It  is  her  blessedness 
that  best  keeps  the  bride  apart — the  unchange- 
able love  of  her  Lord,  and  her  waiting  for  Him. 
There  is  another  way  of  reaching  the  power  of  His 


160  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

resuirection  than  through  the  grave  of  our  hopes. 
The  Lord  Jesus  is  Himself  the  resurrection  and 
the  life ; as  in  union  with  Him  all  things  are  ours 
to  possess , so  in  communion  with  Him  all  things 
are  ours  to  use.  By  sitting  at  His  feet  we  may 
learn  a thousand  lessons,  else  to  be  taught  by 
rougher  voices.  May  He  keep  us  there !” 

“ But  Bohemia?”  said  the  girl,  as  she  looked 
towards  the  southern  hills  ; “ do  you  believe  our 
country  is  lost  to  the  gospel  for  ever.” 

“We  do  not  know,  my  child,  what  seeds  are 
ripening  under  the  soil.  Perhaps  our  old  Church 
may  yet  arise  with  a purified  heart  to  teach  Chris- 
tendom the  great  lesson,  that  with  us  it  is  not  to 
be  as  amongst  the  Gentiles,  c for  he  that  is  great 
amongst  you,  let  him  be  your  minister it  is  my 
constant  prayer.” 

Thus  sitting  at  His  feet,  and  ministering  to 
Him  in  His  brethren,  her  peaceful  being  shedding 
balm  around  her,  her  whole  womanly  nature  devel- 
oped and  satisfied  by  the  interchange  of  child- 
like dependence  and  motherly  care,  she  passed  on 
to  her  rest.  Can  any  life  be  desolate  with  such 
companionship  and  such  service? 

Need  any  Christian  life  be  without  them? 

“ Fear  not,  little  flock.” 

“ The  Father  himself  loveth  you.” 

“ For  the  Lord  redeemeth  the  souls  of  his  ser- 
vants, and  none  of  them  that  trust  in  him  shall 
be  desolate.” 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


161 


PART  III. 

THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


I. 


THE  OLD  MAN’S  PROPHECY. 

The  Reformation,  as  to  external  establishment, 
was  crushed  in  Bohemia,  but  the  living  streams 
were  still  oozing  through  the  land,  and  secretly 
nourishing  the  roots  of  many  plants  of  our 
heavenly  Father’s  planting. 

Throughout  the  seventeenth  century  we  catch 
accidental  glimpses  of  secret  meetings,  for  receiv- 
ing the  Lord’s  Supper,  of  Christian  families;  of 
one  dying  without  desire  of  extreme  unction, 
being,  he  said,  already  anointed  and  sealed  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  as  sure  of  his  salvation  as  of  the 
existence  of  the  sun,  yet  in  whose  life  the  priest 
could  find  no  fault,  and  in  his  death  only  oc- 
casion for  the  prayer  that  he  also  might  die  the 
death  of  the  righteous.  Indeed,  so  many  of  these 
“ hidden  ones  ” were  there,  that  when,  in  1716, 
Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  wrung  from  the  emperor 
14* 


162  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

toleration  for  a stated  number  of  Protestant 
churches,  70,000  were  found  ready  to  attach 
themselves  to  one  of  them. 

One  evening,  in  the  year  1707,  five  young  men 
were  gathered  around  the  deathbed  of  an  aged 
Christian,  a descendant  in  spirit,  as  well  as  by 
the  ties  of  natural  kindred,  of  the  ancient  Brethren 
of  Bohemia. 

These  were  the  five  Neissers,  nephews  of 
George  Joeshke.  The  calm  of  death  in  the  peace 
of  God  pervaded  the  room.  No  one  spoke.  A 
little  boy  stood  by  the  bedside,  his  hands  clasped 
in  those  of  the  dying  man.  It  was  the  son  of  his 
old  age.  Jceschke  was  about  to  rest  from  a life 
of  many  labors — faithful  preaching  of  gratuitous 
salvation — faithful  living  in  the  peace  of  the  re- 
conciliation of  Jesus — labors  which  might  have 
seemed  to  be  worse  than  fruitless,  for  the  band  of 
the  old  Christians  was  constantly  diminished  by 
death,  whilst  the  numbers  of  the  compromising 
constantly  increased.  But  the  old  man  did  not 
despair;  he  rested  on  the  promises,  which  rise 
eternally  above  the  storms.  Like  the  Alpine 
hunter,  through  the  clefts  of  the  clouds  he  looked 
down  on  the  world.  * He  conjured  the  young 
men  to  be  faithful  to  the  truth  which  had  made 
them  free. 

“ It  is  true,”  he  said,  “ that  our  liberty  is  de- 
stroyed ; that  the  greater  part  of  our  children  are 
more  and  more  entangled  in  the  love  of  the  world, 

* Vide  “ Schiller’s  Wilhe'jn  Tell.” 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


163 


and  fall  off  to  the  Papacy;  that,  from  all  ap- 
pearances, one  might  say  the  cause  of  the  Brethren 
was  lost.  But,  my  children,  a great  deliverance 
will  come  for  those  who  remain.  You  will  see 
it.  Whether  it  will  take  place  in  Moravia,  or 
you  will  have  to  leave  this  Babel,  I know  not. 
I think,  however,  you  will  have  to  quit  this 
country,  in  order  to  find  a place  where  you  may 
serve  God  according  to  Ilis  Word.  When  the 
hour  comes,  be  ready.  Beware  of  being  amongst 
the  last,  or  of  being  left  entirely  behind.  And 
now,  I commend  to  you  this  little  one,  my  only 
child.  I commend  him  especially  to  thee,  Augus- 
tine ISTeisser.  He  also  must  belong  to  Jesus. 
Lose  not  sight  of  him,  and  it  you  leave  the  country 
take  him  with  you/5 

Then,  with  tears,  he  blessed  the  child  and  his 
nephews,  and  not  long  after,  he  rested  in  peace. 

I know  not  whether  we  should  call  this  confi- 
dence, prophecy,  or  simply  faith.  At  any  rate, 
it  was  abundantly  fulfilled. 


164  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 


II. 

REBUILDING  FROM  THE  RUINS. 

It  was  the  15th  May  1725.  A company  of  about 
thirty  persons  were  gathered  in  a marshy  spot, 
on  a declivity  by  the  highroad  from  Loban  to 
Zittau  in  Saxony. 

All  around  them  arose  an  uncleared  forest — 
tall  pines  looking  old  and  sombre  amidst  the  fresh 
green  of  the  budding  forest  trees.  On  a leveled 
space  amongst  the  bushes  they  were  laying  the 
foundation  of  a house. 

It  was  a strangely  assorted  company.  A Saxon 
nobleman  and  his  bride,  a young  Swiss  baron, 
with  their  friends ; and  on  the  other  side,  nine  or 
ten  mechanics  and  peasants,  with  their  families. 
But  the  bond  which  united  them  was  far  more 
real  then  the  distinctions  which  separated  them. 
The  noblemen  were  the  Count  von  Zinzendorf 
and  the  Baron  de  Watteville,  to  whom  all  their 
property  and  influence  were  as  nothing,  except 
as  a trust  for  their  Master ; and  the  mechanics 
were  men  who  had  suffered  imprisonment  and 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


165 


loss  of  all  tilings,  and  had  left  country  and  kindred 
for  the  sake  of  Christ  and  His  gospel. 

Amongst  them  were  the  brothers  Neisser  and 
old  George  Joeschke’s  son.  The  Count  spoke 
earnestly  and  affectionately  to  those  present  on 
the  object  of  the  building  they  were  about  to 
erect,  of  the  faith  which  had  once  made  them 
exiles  and  provided  them  an  asylum. 

“ Rather/’  he  said,  “ than  that  this  building 
should  not  tend  to  promote  the  glory  of  Him  in 
whose  name  it  was  founded,  might  fire  from 
heaven  consume  it !” 

Before  he  began  to  speak,  five  travelers  came 
along  the  highroad,  way-worn,  and  poorly  clad. 
They  stood  apart,  and  listened  in  reverent  si- 
lence. 

Then  the  Baron  de  Watteville  drew  off  a ring, 
the  last  jewel  he  had  retained,  and  laying  it  on 
the  foundation-stone,  knelt  there,  and  prayed 
aloud. 

The  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost  overwhelmed 
every  heart  as  he  prayed.  When  he  ceased,  the 
whole  of  the  little  band  were  in  tears.  And  the 
five  strangers  came  forward,  and  said — 

“ Surely  this  is  the  house  of  God  : here  shall 
our  feet  rest.” 

That  house  was  the  first  in  the  settlement  at 
Herrnhut.  The  travelers  were  also  exiles  from 
Moravia  for  the  sake  of  the  faith.  They  had  es- 
caped from  prisons,  and  across  mountains,  by  de- 
liverances which  would  have  seemed  miraculous, 


166  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

were  not  answers  to  prayer  the  “ daily  bread*’ 
of  the  disciples.  Amongst  them  was  that  David 
IsTitschmann,  who  was  afterwards  the  first  mis- 
sionary to  the  West  Indian  slaves,  and  the  first 
bishop  of  the  restored  Church  of  the  Brethren  of 
Bohemia  and  Moravia, 


OF  BOHEMIA.  AND  MORAVIA. 


167 


III. 

SEEDS  BORNE  BY  THE  WINDS. 

In  a room  in  the  island  of  St.  Thomas,  in  the 
TV  est  Indies,  some  years  after  the  foundation  of 
Herrnhut,  Count  Zinzendorf  was  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival of  some  prisoners  whose  release  he  had  pro- 
cured with  difficulty  from  the  tyrannical  planters. 
When  they  arrived,  harassed  and  emaciated  by 
three  months  of  imprisonment,  he  saluted  them 
— as  they  used  to  salute  the  early  martyrs — by 
reverently  kissing  their  hands  in  the  presence  of 
their  oppressors. 

These  were  some  of  the  exiles  of  Herrnhut, 
men  of  the  old  martyr-race  of  Bohemia. 

A few  days  after,  you  might  have  seen  the 
Count  conducting  a service  amongst  some  hun- 
dreds of  slaves,  “ the  Lord’s  freedmen7’ — men  in 
whom  love  to  their  Saviour,  and  faith  in  His  love, 
were  strong  enough  to  overbalance  the  infliction 
of  bodily  sufferings  such  as  we  shudder  to  hear  of. 

After  a prayer  from  one  of  the  slaves,  he  was 
commencing  his  address  with  the  words  of  one 


168  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UlNiTED  BRETHREN 

of  his  favorite  hymns,  when  suddenly  the  whole 
assembly  broke  out,  in  their  own  language,  into 
the  triumphant  hymn — 

“My  Lord,  my  L^rd,  Thou  hast  redeemed  me?” 

Accustomed  as  he  was  to  uncontrollable  man- 
ifestations of  feeling  in  the  Moravian  assemblies, 
the  scene  entirely  over  powered  him. 

These  wrere  some  of  the  converts  of  the  im- 
prisoned missionaries. 

* ❖ * * * 

On  one  of  the  Christmas  holidays,  about  thirty 
years  ago,  amidst  the  snowy  rocks  and  glitter- 
ing icebergs  of  the  north,  a company  of  Green- 
landers were  gathered  around  the  Mission-house 
at  Lichtenfels,  singing  Christian  hymns,  and  ac- 
companying themselves  with  instruments. 

They  were  too  happy  in  the  presence  of  their 
Saviour  to  heed  the  cold.  “ It  was  to  them,”  as 
they  afterwards  said,  “ as  if  they  already  stood 
before  the  throne  of  the  Lamb,  singing  the  new 
song  of  the  redeemed.”  And  those  who  listened 
could  not  refrain  from  tears. 

And  within  the  houses  grouped  around  them, 
you  might  have  witnessed  the  sober  and  peaceful 
lives  of  Christian  families,  or  deathbeds  illumined 
by  the  “ sure  and  certain  hope”  of  those  who  de- 
part in  Christ — and  all  knit  together  in  the  im- 
perishable love  of  Christian  brotherhood.  Yet 
not  many  years  before,  these  very  men  had  been 
savages,  wandering  from  place  to  place,  without 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MOIIAYIA. 


169 


thought  of  God  or  duty,  with  no  social  bond  but 
the  necessities  of  selfishness — no  hope  beyond 
the  deathbed. 

Patiently  had  the  missionaries  labored  for  this 
end,  enduring  hunger  and  cold,  and  worse  trials 
from  cold  and  hardened  hearts ; through  fifteen 
years  trusting  to  the  promise  that  they  should 
reap,  when  not  a sign  of  the  harvest  appeared. 
But  at  length,  after  the  long  polar  winter,  spring 
and  summer  had  burst  on  them  as  it  were  in  a 
night. 

These  were  more  of  the  fruits  of  the  seed 
which  had  so  long  been  buried  and  trampled 
under  the  soil  in  Bohemia. 

If  there  was  need  of  “long  patience,”  was 
there  not  reward  for  it? 

But  it  would  take  far  too  long  even  to  name 
the  blessings  which  were  showered  on  the  colony 
of  Herrnhut,  and  flowed  from  it,  in  those  days 
of  fresh  love  and  life,  when  “the  multitude  of 
those  that  believed  were  of  one  heart  and  one 
soul,  neither  said  any  of  them  that  aught  of  the 
things  which  they  possessed  was  his  own,  but 
they  had  all  things  in  common.”  We,  in  our 
“ majestic  sobriety,”  may  reprehend  such  excesses 
of  zeal  and  love;  but  they,  in  their  “gladness 
and  singleness  of  heart,”  would  have  been  far  too 
happy  to  care  about  our  reproaches:  for  “with 
great  power”  did  many  amongst  them  bear  wit- 
ness unto  the  resurrection  of  tie  Lord,  “and 
great  grace  was  upon  them  all.” 

15 


170  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

But  one  thing  which  happened  amongst  them 
is,  unhappily,  so  singular  in  the  history  of  relig- 
ious controversies,  that  I can  not  refrain  from 
mentioning  it : — 

The  infant  community  at  Herrnhut  had  been 
much  disturbed  by  a certain  controversy  (I  be- 
lieve it  was  about  the  human  nature  of  our 
Lord) : there  seemed  danger  of  a violent  rupture 
— but  they  prayed  together , and  read  the  First 
Epistle  of  St.  John;  and  such  a sense  of  their 
blessed  and  eternal  oneness  in  the  Lord  Jesus, 
and  such  a glow  of  brotherly  love,  were  diffused 
amongst  them,  that  the  schism  was  healed  so  per- 
fectly as  not  even  to  leave  a scar  behind.  All 
causes  of  division  literally  melted  away,  like  a 
cloud  or  a snow-drift,  in  the  light  of  Him  whose 
manifest  presence  shall  by  and  by  dissolve  all 
ice-bonds  and  ice-barriers  amongst  us  for  ever. 

The  Moravian  Brethren  have  done  little  to- 
wards expanding  before  us  new  worlds  of  science 
or  art — towards  cutting  new  vistas  into  the  depths 
of  astronomic  space,  or  geologic  time — but  who 
can  count  the  souls  to  which  they  have  opened 
that  eternal  kingdom  where  all  shall  know  even 
as  they  are  known  ? 

They  have  done  little  for  symbolic  architecture 
and  the  glory  of  beautiful  temples — but  of  the 
habitations  of  God  which  they  have  built  through 
the  Spirit,  He  only  knows  the  glory  and  the 
number. 

Their  sole  theology  was  JESUS — the  eternal 


OF  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


m 


Son  of  God,  the  crucified  and  lisen  Son  of  man, 
the  Sacrifice,  the  High  Priest,  the  Universal 
Bishop  of  His  Church  ; the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life. 

The  foundation  of  their  community,  and  their 
bond  of  fellowship,  was  no  system  of  doctrines 
or  Church  government:  it  was  “ Christ  Jesus 
the  Lord  ” — “ the  same  yesterday,  and  to-day, 
and  for  ever.”  For  any  mistakes  they  may  have 
made  in  carrying  out  a church  principle  so  catholic 
and  so  divine,  our  weak  nature  is  responsible. 

It  is  possible  that,  fixing  their  eyes  too  exclu- 
sively on  the  dying,  rather  than  on  the  risen, 
Son  of  man — on  the  intense  but  finished  agony, 
rather  than  on  the  eternal  and  actual  joy  it  has 
purchased,  dwelling  on  His  bodily  sufferings  with 
a prolonged  excitement  of  feeling  which  seems 
hardly  scriptural;  their  piety  may  occasionally 
have  lost  itself  in  religious  sentimentalism ; but 
the  love  they  bore  Him  was  no  mere  barren 
emotion ; and  the  crosses  they  bore  after  Him 
were  neither  self-imposed  burdens  nor  mere  de- 
votional ornaments — and  we  may  surely  pardon 
— as  He  who  is  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmities  doubtless  has — the  extravagances  of  a 
love  which  braved  polar  winters,  and  equinoctial 
summers,  and  long  years  of  seemingly  fruitless 
toil,  for  His  sake. 

With  their  failures  we  have  nothing  to  do, 
except  to  warn  us  how  unwise  we  all  are  when 
we  abandon  ourselves  to  any  teaching  but  that; 


172  SKETCHES  OF  THE  UNITED  BRETHREN 

of  the  Word  of  God — or  to  blend  with  our  con- 
fessions when,  as  members  of  the  one  family,  we 
say — “ All  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray;”  but 
the  example  of  their  single-hearted  devotion  and 
brotherly  love  is  ours  to  rejoice  in,  with  thanks- 
giving for  ever  ; and  the  best  part  of  it  is,  that 
these  things  are  existing  amongst  us  still. 

Now,  whilst  I write,  two  Moravian  brethren 
are  laboring  within  the  infected  Avails  of  a lazar- 
house  /in  Southern  Africa,  having  deliberately 
suffered  themselves  to  be  immured  there  for  life, 
in  order  to  reveal  to  the  wretched  inmates  “ the 
unsearchable  riches  of  Christ.”  What  they  are 
noAV  suffering,  we  know  not — but  Ave  do  know 
that  Avhen  they  die  there  are  others  ready  to  fill 
their  places. 

With  such  a golden  cloud  of  witnesses,  linking 
the  very  air  we  breathe  Avith  the  depths  of  the 
inmost  hea\Tens  where  the  first  Martyr  rests  in 
the  light  which  shone  on  his  dying  eyes,  A\Tho 
shall  say  that  the  ages  of  faith  and  love  are  past, 
and  that  the  heart  of  the  Church  is  palsied  and 
groAvn  chill? 

Are  not  fresh  springs  of  life  ever  gushing  forth 
in  our  midst?  Is  not  the  very  existence  of  the 
Church  of  God  on  earth  a perpetual  miracle  ? Is 
not  a new  creation  commenced  in  eArery  soul  to 
which  God  says,  “ Let  there  be  light  ? ” Does 
not  the  morning  gloAV  around  every  awakened 
heart  ? 

Is  not  their  Father  our  Father?  Is  not  the 


OP  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 


173 


Lord  Jesus  Christ  the  same  to-day  as  when  yes- 
terday He  said  to  them,  “Follow  thou  Me,”  and, 
“ My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee  ? ” Is  not  the 
Holy  Spirit  still  with  patient  love  and  undimin- 
ished might  gathering  and  chiselling  the  living 
stones  for  the  living  temple  ? May  we  also  go 
forth  every  morning  refreshed  and  strengthened 
by  draughts  from  the  Well  of  Life?  May  not 
we  also  Avalk  all  day  u in  the  light  ” — thus  having 
fellowship  one  with  another?  May  not  we  also 
lie  down  every  evening  with  hearts  and  con- 
sciences “ white  and  clean  ” as  the  robes  of  the 
Blessed  before  the  throne — washed  in  the  same 
“ precious  blood?  ” 

And,  oh,  if  our  hearts  thrill  at  the  recital  of 
holy  deeds  done  ages  since,  must  they  not  throb 
with  redoubled  life  at  the  thought  of  such  lives 
flowing  parallel  with  our  own  day  by  day  ? 

The  love  wherewith  we  are  loved  is  as  great, 
the  arm  on  which  we  are  invited  to  lean  is  as 
strong,  the  time  in  which  we  have  to  labor  is  as 
short,  the  eternity  to  which  we  are  hastening — 
and  which  is  hastening  to  us — is  as  long,  the 
position  in  which  we  are  placed  is  the  very  best 
in  all  the  battle-field  our  God  would  choose  for 
us.  There  is  not  a difficulty  in  our  path  which 
shall  not  be  compelled  to  work  for  us,  if  we  meet 
it  in  communion  with  our  Lord.  Are  we  also 
overcoming  ? 


15* 


I 


The  Gtlden  Tadder  Series,  Six  volumes.  Il- 
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CONTAINING 


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The  Crossing  Sweeper, 
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Hi/  the  same  JSuthor • 


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dulge in  outbursts  of  passion,  when  crossed,  but  equally  prompt  in 
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severe  ordeal  of  suffering.  The  story  is  one  of  uncommon  beauty 
and  power,  and  the  lesson  it  teaches  cannot  be  too  often  or  too 
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2 


nsriE-w  books. 


H^| 

3 


Jty  the  %luthor  of 

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lief before  the  imagination  the  great  facts  of  the  Bible  story.  The 
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JSy  the  same  Jtut-hor » 

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nsrim-w  2300 IEC  3. 


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i 


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n T H £ 


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■ 


L 


